s to do," Amy continued. "It isn't
because she's old, either. She's been that way ever since mother can
remember. She's always losing things, and getting into the most awful
scrapes. We should have to look after her, just as if she were a child.
And then she's the jolliest soul you ever knew, and she's a regular
Arabian Nights' entertainment when it comes to telling stories."

After the vision of a nervous old lady who would demand that the house
be very quiet, and get into a nervous flutter if a meal were delayed
fifteen minutes, Amy's realistic sketch was immensely appealing.
"Girls," Peggy exclaimed, "I move we invite Aunt Abigail to chaperon our
crowd!" And the motion was carried not only unanimously, but with an
enthusiasm Aunt Abigail would certainly have found gratifying, though it
might have surprised her, in view of her grand-niece's candid statement.

Peggy had pleaded to be allowed to take Dorothy along. "I can't bear to
think of that darling child spending July and August in a fourth-floor
flat, looking down on the tops of street-cars. And I don't think she'd
bother you girls a bit."

"Bother!" cried Amy generously. "We need something to fall back on for
rainy days, and Dorothy's a picnic in herself. Between her and Aunt
Abigail we'll be entertained whatever happens."

Priscilla, too, had suggested an addition to the party. "You've heard me
speak of Claire Fendall, girls. I saw a good deal of her at the
conservatory, and she's as sweet as she can be. Well, we've talked of
her visiting me this vacation, and I don't feel quite like announcing
that I'm going off for the entire summer without asking her if she'd
like to go too."

The girls had fallen in with the suggestion with the thoughtless
cordiality characteristic of their years. It was Amy who suggested later
to Peggy that sometimes she thought there was such a thing as a girl's
being _too_ sweet. "I met Claire Fendall once when I went with
Priscilla to a recital," Amy remarked. "And--Oh, well, I'm not one of
the people who like honey for breakfast every morning of the year." But
the only reply this Delphic utterance called forth from Peggy was a
reproachful pinch.

In a week's time they were ready. A special delivery letter had carried
to Mrs. Leighton the grateful acceptance of her offer, and the keys had
come by express the following day, rattling about in a tin box, and with
the tantalizing air of secrecy and suggestiveness which always attaches