"She wants to get to bed and to sleep, and so do the rest of you, before
Lucy and me have the lot sick on our hands."

"Oh, I couldn't sleep," protested Peggy, "and I want to wait till Jerry
comes, and find out if he stopped Joe from sending that telegram."

"And we're dying to hear everything that's happened," Amy cried, "and,
besides, I'm afraid to go to sleep for fear I'll dream that this is only
a dream."

But Mrs. Cole was firm, and Lucy Haines, who had come to the cottage
before sunrise, added her entreaties to the older woman's insistence.
Then everybody discovered that Peggy was very pale, and Dorothy did some
more slapping, and Mrs. Cole's motion was carried. Although every girl
of them, and Aunt Abigail as well, had protested her utter inability to
sleep, it was not fifteen minutes before absolute quiet reigned in the
second story of the cottage. Wheels ground up the driveway again and
again, and penetrating, if kindly, voices made inquiries under the open
windows, but none of the sleepers waked till noon.

Jerry Morton, coming to report the success of his mission, was more than
a little disappointed not to secure an immediate interview with Peggy.
But Lucy, who was peeling potatoes in anticipation of the time when
hunger should act as an alarm clock, in the hushed second story, bade
him sit down and wait. "I know she'll want to see you. She was so
worried for fear the news would get to her mother."

"Well, it came mighty near it, I can tell you. Joe was just ahead of me.
When I got in he was saying to the operator, 'Rush this, will you?' and
I grabbed his coat and said nix." Jerry's tired face lighted up with
satisfaction, and Lucy regarded him rather enviously. It seemed to her
that Jerry was getting more than his share. He had found the castaways,
and had spared Friendly Terrace the shock of the mistaken news, while
Lucy with equally good will, was forced to content herself with peeling
potatoes and like humble services.

"How did you ever come to think of looking for them?" she asked, wishing
that the happy idea had occurred to her, instead of to Jerry.

"I didn't. 'Twas just a stroke of luck." Jerry told the story of his
night's wandering, a recital as interesting to himself as to Lucy, for
as yet he had hardly had time to formulate the record of what had
happened. Before they had exhausted the fascinating theme there were
sounds overhead which told that the late sleepers were at last astir.

Th