Two subdued little boys went in to dinner that noon. Afterward Aunt Polly announced that she was going over to town.

“I have to drive Nelly Bly,” she told them, “and as I couldn’t take but one, I don’t think it is fair to take any of you. As soon as the car is fixed, we’ll have a long drive.”

Jud had taken the automobile over to the one garage the week before and it was not ready yet.

“Now try to amuse yourselves and don’t get into mischief,” cautioned Aunt Polly, as Jud brought Nelly Bly and the buggy to the door. “I’m sorry I have to leave you when Linda is away, but you’ll be all right. Jud will be within call, and I’ll be back about five. I’m going to pick up Linda and bring her back.”

“What are you going to do, Jud?” asked Dot, as Aunt Polly drove out of the gate. Dot was in a clean dry dress and none the worse for her ducking.

“Can’t we help you?” asked Meg kindly.

“Now look here,” Jud said, in his pleasant, slow voice. “I’m going to be all-fired busy in the back garden. If anything frightens you, sing out and I’ll hear you. If you want to talk to any one, go down to the house, and Mother will listen to you. But please don’t bother me.”

“But what’ll we do?” persisted Bobby.

Jud pointed to the tent that had been Father Blossom’s surprise.

“Play Indians, why don’t you?” he suggested. “Don’t believe you’ve had those clothes on three times since you got ’em. If any one had sent me a tent when I was a kid, you couldn’t have kept me from playing with it.”

“We might as well play Indian,” said Meg, when Jud had gone off to his garden, whistling. “Dot and I’ll put on our suits and you and Twaddles wear yours. I wish I had a tomahawk.”

“Girl Indians don’t have ’em,” said Bobby flatly.

“Well, they ought to,” declared Meg. “Doesn’t Dot look cunning in her suit?”

“Heap big Injun chief,” announced Bobby, prancing about in his suit.

“Let’s get captives and hide them in the tent,” suggested Meg, who usually did most of the planning for their games.

“Where’ll we get ’em?” asked Bobby doubtfully. “Jud’s bigger than we are.”

“No, we can’t capture Jud,” agreed Meg.

“Wow! wow! Whoop!” shouted Twaddles, tumbling down the steps and giving his best Indian yell as he came.

“Ducks and chickens might be captives,” said Meg slowly, frowning at the interruption of Twaddles.

Ordinarily Meg was a good little girl and not given to mischief, but a spice of naughtiness seemed to be in all the four little Blossoms on this unfortunate day.

“Let’s get the ducks, first,” said Bobby. “That’s a great idea, Meg. Come on, Twaddles, we have to capture the ducks.”

They found the beautiful white birds swimming lazily about the artificial duck pond in the chicken yard, and they didn’t seem to want to 117 be captured at all. The children finally succeeded in driving them, twenty of them, that is, into the tent.

“Somebody will have to stay and see they don’t come out when we get the chickens,” said Meg. “Dot’s too little––she’ll let ’em out. I’ll do it, if you’ll stay when we get the chickens in, and let me capture the turkeys, Bobby.”

Bobby assented, and Meg stayed behind at the tent while Dot, Twaddles and Bobby went after the chickens.

If you have ever tried to drive a hen into a certain place, you will know how very stupid she can be. The children were hot and cross before they had twenty-eight white leghorn hens penned in the tent with the ducks.

“They make an awful lot of noise,” said Bobby nervously. “Jud will hear them.”

“As soon as they find it’s dark they’ll think it’s night,” answered Meg comfortably. “Now I’m going after turkeys.”

But the only turkey she could find was the lame one that lived in the chicken yard and was tame enough to allow herself to be picked up.

“Aren’t they good and quiet?” said Meg with satisfaction, as she poked the patient turkey hen through the tent flaps and heard the soft mutterings of the ducks and hens, who thought it was night and time to go to sleep.

Just as the Indians had the last captive snugly fastened in, Peter, with Terry harnessed to the “market wagon,” a light wagon that was used to take the butter and eggs over to town in, came down the drive from the barn.

“Whoa!” said Peter to Terry.

“Oh, Mr. Peter!” The four little Blossoms rushed out to greet him. “Where are you going? Can’t we go? Where’s Jerry?”

Peter surveyed the four Indians gravely.

“Well, as I’m going up in the mountain, I guess we won’t meet any one who’ll be scared to death,” he said slowly. “So I don’t know but perhaps you might hop in. Jerry? I left him in the stable. This wagon goes with one horse.”

As the children scrambled in, Peter thought of something.

“Like as not Miss Polly’ll be back before we 119 are,” he observed. “She might miss all four of you if no one’s about. Jud!”

“Here!” shouted Jud from the back garden.

He came to the gate in the hedge.

“Jud, if Miss Polly comes home and doesn’t find any children, just tell her they’re with me and that we’ll be home by six. I’m going up in the mountain.”

“All right,” said Jud.

“How do you go up in the mountain?” inquired Meg curiously, as they turned into the road.

She was sitting on the front seat with Peter, Twaddles was between them, and Dot was in her lap. Bobby stood up in the wagon behind them and looked over their shoulders.

“I guess I mean up on the mountain,” Peter corrected himself. “We’ve got kind of a habit round here of saying ‘in the mountain.’ Ever been up there?”

The four little Blossoms had never been there––indeed they did not know there was a mountain near by.

“Well, I suppose it’s more of a hill,” admitted 120 Peter. “But it’s the best mountain we have. Queer people live up there. They don’t see much of anybody, and some of ’em’s as timid as deer. The children, now, run when they see a stranger coming.”

“What are we going to get?” asked Bobby. He had been long enough on the farm to know that when one harnessed up a horse and wagon there was usually something to be fetched or carried.

“I’m going up to see if I can’t get a woman to come down next week and help Mrs. Peter do some cleaning,” explained Peter. “Help’s scarce in the town, and some of the mountain-folk like to earn a little money in the summer. Miss Polly taking the buggy, I had to get along with the market wagon. ’Sides, the thought came to me that I might meet some one who wanted a ride.”

Meg saw Peter’s eyes twinkling and she guessed that he had meant to ask them to go with him all the time.

Terry was going up a steep road now, narrow as well as steep, and the untrimmed trees lashed 121 against the curtained sides of the wagon as it passed.

“Here’s Mrs. Cook’s house,” said Peter at last.

The children saw a little unpainted house standing in a clearing of half-chopped tree-stumps. A line of washing was strung between the two posts that supported a narrow roof over the door. Skins of animals were tacked on the sides of the house, and a large hound dog chained to a tree watched them closely.

“Can we get out and see the dog?” asked Meg, as Peter tied Terry to a convenient tree.

“I don’t know as I’d touch the dog,” said Peter. “Better keep away from him. He’s a night hunter, and may be cross. There’s Mrs. Cook’s little girl––go and make friends with her If you want to.”

Peter went up to the house door and knocked, and Meg walked over to a little girl seated on a tree stump.

The child was barefooted and wore a ragged dress, but her skin was a beautiful clear brown and her eyes were as blue as Meg’s. She had lovely long brown hair, too.

“Hello!” said Meg.

Apparently the little girl had not heard her coming, for she jumped when Meg spoke and turned swiftly. Then she shrieked loudly and dashed for the house. Peter came out at once.

“Guess you frightened her,” he said. “And Christopher Columbus, I don’t wonder. You look like a band of Indians let loose.”

“My! we forgot these clothes,” said Bobby. “Meg didn’t mean to frighten her. Look at Twaddles––she scared him pretty near stiff yelling like that.”

Mrs. Cook came out to the wagon presently, to tell Peter that she would come the next week. She was a little thin, brown-faced woman, and she was even shyer than Dot, who usually shrank out of sight when there were any strangers around.

“These Miss Polly’s ’lations?” asked Mrs. Cook, twisting her apron nervously.