“I tell you what I’ll do,” said Everett Braggen, quick to interpret Hope’s thoughts. “I’ll take you and your mother up to town in my car and you can see how you like the place, and I’ll bring you back again.”

“Don’t you do it, Hope,” said Pee-wee, “because don’t you know, you and I are partners?”

“Oh, it’s so silly,” she said, “trying to compete with those houses up in Snailsdale.”

“That shows how much you know,” Pee-wee continued excitedly, for he saw the case was desperate. “Just because I’m a boy scout that doesn’t say I wasn’t in the same movie film that showed President Harding, you can ask anybody. And the President of the United States sent the Boy Scouts a letter, too, and I saw a lot of famous people and I know a feller at Temple Camp that shook hands with Buffalo Bill, gee whiz, the Snailsdale House isn’t so much; anyway you crossed your heart.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, you were going to, and don’t you know how I said I was going to treat you to ice cream after the parade?

That’s what all the scouts say up at Temple Camp, and anyway you can ask any feller up there if I don’t always win, because I’m lucky—you can ask anybody. So let’s start work, hey? And he can watch us if he wants to.”

It was characteristic of Pee-wee that with all his flaunting boasts about his triumphs in everything he undertook, he did not mention his real heroic act of killing the rattlesnake and saving his pal’s precious life.

Nor, alas, did she think of that, either. Without saying a word she arose and started toward the house. As she crossed the barnyard she threw the hammer down in the mud. But the strip of bunting was still over her shoulder and wound around her waist and it made her look very winsome.

She ran up the stairs and into her mother’s room flushed with hurry and excitement and fresh hopes.

“Oh, mother, just listen,” she panted. “There are two rooms at the Snailsdale House and we can have them if we want them, only we’ll have to act right straight away! Remember, you promised we’d go up there after you rested—if we could get rooms. There’s a boy outside that knows little Walter Harris and he has a car and he says he’ll take us up there. Oh, it would be just a wicked shame to miss the chance. There are going to be lots and lots of people there for August. Two perfectly lovely fellows are coming up Saturday—”

“How do you know they are perfectly lovely fellows?” her mother inquired.

“Because they are, and there’s a perfectly wonderful musician coming and there’ll be dancing and everything. You don’t need any hat, come just the way you are, and we’ll engage the rooms before any one else gets them. He’s the nicest boy—only we have to hurry!”

“If he’s such a nice boy I guess he can wait a few minutes,” said Mrs. Stillmore.

“But I’m afraid some one will get the rooms— oh, I’d just die from disappointment. You know how it is up at the Snailsdale House, people just begging for rooms.”

“Well, we’re not beggars,” said Mrs. Stillmore.

“Oh, you’re just provoking!” Hope said, stamping her foot impatiently. “You know Mr. and Mrs. Goodale won’t care a bit—they’re too slow to care. Oh, I’m just sick and disgusted with this poky old place—even that boy makes fun of it and I felt so ashamed! He’d take us out in his car lots and here we can’t even go driving with the horse.”

“Have you thought about Walter?” her mother asked. “Weren’t you going to help him?”

“Oh, it’s just too silly,” Hope said, impatiently. “You know perfectly well that before the day of the parade comes he will have forgotten all about the float and he’ll be doing something else. Even his mother says he’s “fickle.” Hope shot out the word fickle as if she understood it to mean something very dreadful. “I’ll speak to Mr. Goodale if you’re afraid to,” she added, as an inducement. And as a clincher she said, “Remember, you promised you would when you first came here. You know how fond you are of music. You said yourself that this horrid farm-boy here drove you to desperation with his accordion.”

“I didn’t call him horrid.”

“Well you looked it.”

“Well, I’ll go and see the rooms if you want me to,” Mrs. Stillmore said, resignedly; “I did tell you that I was thinking of your happiness more than of my own. As you know I would be willing to stay here—”

“That’s just because you like Mrs. Harris and Walter. If they weren’t here you’d never be willing to stay on here. I know you “thoroughly.” It was wonderful how much Miss Hope Stillmore understood.

“If Walter Harris had not been with you in the woods, Hope, you would probably not be alive to want to go up to Snailsdale,” her mother said as a sort of final shot. “I’m perfectly willing to go and see the rooms but this young man will have to wait till I have talked with Mr. Goodale.”

Indeed the young man was already waiting.

Not desirous of wasting any more time with Pee-wee, he had brought his Ford up to the porch and was sitting at the wheel with a very ostentatious air. When Hope and her mother came out on the porch after talking with Mr. and Mrs. Goodale, he nonchalantly threw open both front and rear doors of his car by way of encouraging Hope to sit beside him. But he was doomed to disappointment in this for she sat with her mother. Perhaps it was because she felt that her mother might weaken and require to be stimulated with fresh arguments.

As for Pee-wee, he sat upon the float and watched the Ford go down the road. His friend, the rooster, was there upon the fence, and seemed to be watching, too, as if he also could not comprehend this astonishing turn of affairs....