.

CHAPTER II

A COTTAGE RE-CHRISTENED

The stage creaked up the slope. The four horses, sedate enough during
the long drive, wound up with a flourish, the off-leader prancing, and
all four making that final exhibition of untamed spirit, which is the
stage-driver's secret. And from the body of the vehicle arose a chorus
of voices.

"Is this it? Oh, girls, this can't really be it!"

The stage-driver took it on himself to answer the question.

"You asked for Leighton's place, and this here's it. Now, if you want
suthin' else, all you've got to do is to say so." He folded his arms
with the air of being only too well accustomed to the vagaries of city
people, an implication which his passengers were too elated to notice.
They scrambled out, not waiting for his assistance, Peggy first,
extending a hand to Aunt Abigail, who waved it briskly aside, and jumped
off the steps like a girl. Her bright dark eyes--she never used
spectacles except for reading--twinkled gaily. And her cheeks
crisscrossed with innumerable fine wrinkles, were as rosy as winter
apples.

Dorothy followed Aunt Abigail, flinging herself headlong into Peggy's
extended arms, and then wriggling free to satisfy herself as to what the
country was like, as well as to scan the landscape for a possible bear.
The others crowded after, and the stage-driver relenting, began to throw
off the trunks.

The Leighton cottage was a rambling structure, suggesting a series of
architectural after-thoughts. Its location could hardly have been
surpassed, for it stood on a rise of ground so that in any direction one
looked across fertile valleys to encircling hills. A porch ran about
three sides of the house, shaded here and there by vines. In spite of a
certain look of neglect, emphasized by the straggling branches of the
untrimmed vines, and the cobwebs everywhere visible, its appearance was
distinctly prepossessing.

"Going to get these doors open any time to-day?" asked the stage-driver,
apparently struggling for resignation.

"The keys, Aunt Abigail!" Amy cried.

"Bless you, child, I haven't any keys!" the old lady answered. Then,
with no apparent loss of serenity, "Oh, yes, I do remember that you
handed them to me. But I haven't an idea where they are now."

The girls looked reproachfully at Amy. After having set forth the
peculiarities of her relative in such detail, she should have known
better than to have entrusted her with anything as important a