The next morning Queen’s Cottage was a pandemonium of trunks and bags and excited young women, rushing up and down the halls. Cries could be heard from every room in the house of:
“The laundress hasn’t brought my shirtwaists! Perfidious woman!”
“The expressman’s here!”
“Is your trunk strapped?”
“I’ve got to sleep in an upper berth.”
“Don’t forget to write me.”
“Where are you to be this summer?”
“I can’t get this top down and the trunk man’s waiting!”
“Oh, dear, do hurry! We’ll miss the bus!”
“Young ladies, the bus is coming,” called the voice of Mrs. Markham from the front door.