a boy, for it wore a pair of blue denim
overalls and a wide-brimmed straw hat, from beneath which the birdlike
notes were still emitted, but as the figure paused at the sight of him,
the song suddenly ceased--he saw a tumbled mass of tawny hair and a pair
of startled blue eyes staring at him.

"Hello," said the figure, after a moment, recovering its voice.

"Good-afternoon," said Peter Nichols, bowing from the waist in the most
approved Continental manner. You see he, too, was a little startled by
the apparition, which proclaimed itself beneath its strange garments in
unmistakable terms to be both feminine and lovely.

CHAPTER III

THE OVERALL GIRL

They stood for a long moment regarding each other, both in curiosity;
Peter because of the contrariety of the girl's face and garments, the
girl because of Peter's bow, which was the most extraordinary thing that
had ever happened in Burlington County. After a pause, a smile which
seemed to have been hovering uncertainly around the corners of her lips
broke into a frank grin, disclosing dimples and a row of white teeth,
the front ones not quite together.

"Could you tell me," asked Peter very politely as he found his voice,
"if this road leads to Black Rock?"

She was still scrutinizing him, her head, birdlike, upon one side.

"That depends on which way you're walkin'," she said.

She dropped her "g" with careless ease, but then Peter had noticed that
many Americans and English people, some very nice ones, did that.

Peter glanced at the girl and then down the road in both directions.

"Oh, yes, of course," he said, not sure whether she was smiling at or
with him. "I came from a station called Pickerel River and I wish to go
to Black Rock."

"You're _sure_ you want to go there?"

"Oh, yes."

"I guess that's because you've never been to Black Rock, Mister."

"No, I haven't."

The girl picked a shrub and nibbled at it daintily.

"You'd better turn and go right back." Her sentence finished in a shrug.

"What's the matter with Black Rock?" he asked curiously.

"It's just the little end of nothin'. That's all," she finished
decisively.

The quaint expression interested him. "I must get there, nevertheless,"
he said; "is it far from here?"

"Depends on what you call far. Mile or so. Didn't the 'Lizzie' meet the
six-thirty?"

Peter stared at her vacuously, for this was Greek.

"The 'Lizzie'?"

"The tin 'Lizzie'--Jim Hagerman's bus--carries the