“Havies!” begged Ned.
“Corkies!” joked Cologne.
“We may go!” announced Tavia, now standing on Jean’s pretty dress that happened to spread itself over the seat from which she decided to orate. “We may go. We may walk. It is only three miles over the cove bridge and I pity Glen to-night when jelly-round comes. We’ll lick the plates!”
“Whatever do you mean, Tavia?” asked Dorothy. “The bridge cannot be repaired to-night.”
“The bridge may sink or swim, but there won’t be one of us ‘waiting at the bridge,’” and she hummed a tune gaily.
“But what shall we do?” asked little Amy Brooks. “We can’t fly?”
“More’s the pity,” answered Tavia. “Next time I take this trip I’ll carry a box kite over the green flag. No, but this is what you can do, my dears. Take up your things—every mussed paper bag of them, and hurry with me across the meadow. The road comes out just at the Green Edge trolley line, and that line is wound around Glenwood tower! It crosses Strathaway River on a small bridge below this railroad one. Come on!”
Everyone gasped. That Tavia should have thought of this!
“But, Tavia,” objected Dorothy, “how are we to know that we can cross the meadow? It is almost dark!”
“More reason why we should hurry to find out,” answered the daring one. “Come on, or I’m gone.”