At six o'clock that morning the dew lay heavy upon the matted grape leaves, and over the little vegetable garden behind the house, with its outlying poles of hop-vines and sweet-peas.
The scent of pennyroyal came from the banks of the stream; the birds twittered round the little gray house and the sun shone upon it feebly, through a thick wall of fog.
Stepping softly across the bridge and through the green opening of the porch went Hugh and Mat, those worthy aids of the Happy-Go-Luckys; in front of the door they placed the birthday offerings, and then, giving a resounding knock on the panel, they ran and hid in the bushes across the road.
Presently the door opened and a gray head peered forth, then out stepped a thin figure in a blue calico wrapper. With hands upraised she advanced to the porch steps.
"The grocer's man made a mistake," the boys heard her say. She gazed along the road but no one was in view. Retracing her steps she bent over the baskets.
"There's a card on 'em. The owner's name, I reckon. I'll get my specs and see!"
"Now's our chance to light out!" whispered Mat, and away they flew.
Mrs. Lee crossed the bridge that same evening, followed by Nettie in starched white frock and golden curls.
A clump of hollyhocks made a gorgeous splash of color against the wall of the house beneath the end window. Four-o'clocks, ragged-robins and blue lark-spur struggled up through the cabbages and long grass of the little garden, to bid them welcome, and at the door they were met by the mistress of the house, who had heard their footsteps.
Mrs. Kump was a large-boned woman of medium height; her complexion was of golden bronze; the flesh had fallen, giving her cheeks a square set, and her dark eyes gleamed brightly beneath a broad wrinkled brow; a cap of black lace surmounted her head, a white net fichu was crossed on her breast and fastened with a cameo pin in a wide gold frame, and her dress was of silver gray.