Breakfast was late next morning, and there were some heavy eyes at the pretty table. Belle was pale and nervous, and Mary, too, wore an anxious look on her face. Even the plump and jovial Mrs. St. Clair was not quite herself. Her eyes had a puzzled, absent-minded expression, as if she were trying to remember something that had almost faded out of her memory. But she forced herself to smile and talk with her young guests, and only the Motor Maids really noticed her abstraction.

“What do you intend to do to-day, Percival, dearest?” she asked her son.

“Don’t you remember, mother, that Billie is to take some of us and the side-seated wagon the others over to Mrs. Ruggles? I wrote her to expect us by two this afternoon, and we’ll be hungry enough by then to eat everything in sight.”

“Who is Mrs. Ruggles?” asked Billie, who was not yet familiar with various picturesque and interesting characters living around West Haven.

“Wait until you see her,” replied Mrs. St. Clair. “She is a queer old woman, but she has a great many friends and you can’t help liking her, and her food—dear me, you never imagined such meals as she can get up.”

“Now, don’t go and give things away, mother,” remonstrated Percy. “The others have all met Mrs. Ruggles, but Billie hasn’t and neither has Miss Alta, and we might as well give them a little surprise.”

“It seems to me that West Haven is full of surprises,” observed Billie. “Papa and I used to wander about the world together like two vagabonds, but in all that time we never had so many adventures and excitements as I have had here.”

“Well, there won’t be any excitement about this trip,” said Percy. “It’s just a ride across the country to the shore, one grand, large meal, and then home again in time for another feed, and you’ll all be ready for bed.”

It was arranged for those who were to drive to start well ahead of the others in the “handicap race,” as Percy called it, in order to get to Mrs. Ruggles’ at the same time. The Motor Maids went in “The Comet” with their particular friends, which was tacitly agreed upon, and Roly Poly McLane drove with Belle and Fannie and three boys in the St. Clair trim-looking depot wagon. They were not even to take the same road as the motor car, but were to go by a short cut over a road too sandy for automobiles.

Mrs. St. Clair, who was not to be in the party, inspected each girl with motherly interest before the start. She appeared to have an endless store of wraps, ulsters, sweaters and fur coats, veils and scarfs, which she bundled on her guests without the slightest regard for sex or size.

“Young people never know how to keep warm,” she said. “Especially girls. They always think warm clothing is unbecoming, when really nothing is more unbecoming than purple noses and blue lips. Percival, my darling, don’t you think you’ll need your ear muffs?”

“No, mother,” answered her son firmly, “not on the first of November.”

“Oh, I implore you, my son; I entreat you,” cried the importunate woman, and Percy, with admirable patience permitted her to slip them on his ears, though he promptly removed them when the motor car had turned into the road and he could no longer see his mother waving her handkerchief.

“I must look remarkably like Dr. Cook,” he said, laughing, as he removed some of the layers of wraps and scarfs his mother had loaded him with.

“The Comet” was in splendid trim that morning.

“He gets cranky and unmanageable exactly like a human being,” Billie had often said about him, but to-day he appeared almost to take human enjoyment in the long stretch of hard-beaten road and the crisp autumn air.

“Does this mysterious Mrs. Ruggles live in a palace or a hut?” asked Billie, after a while, her curiosity increasing as the salty breeze straight from the ocean reminded her that they were approaching the coast.

“It’s a little of both,” replied Percy.

“She’s a queen, herself, Mrs. Ruggles is,” put in Ben.

“I believe she thinks she is one, really,” said Elinor. “If she doesn’t like a person, she almost says, ‘Off with his head.’”

“But I thought you said she was a cook?”

“She is,” answered Merry. “She’s a queenly cook and a cookly queen.”

“You are all a lot of crack-brained, foolish people,” exclaimed Billie, exasperated. “I feel as if ‘The Comet’ couldn’t take me fast enough to satisfy my curiosity about Mrs. Ruggles.”

She put on the third speed and the red motor took to the course like a young race horse as he rounds the curve toward home. It was a long and rather chilly ride before they reached the abode of Mrs. Ruggles. The young people found themselves buttoning their wraps around them quite gratefully and snuggling down in the car.

“Here we are,” said Percy, at last.

Billie stopped the car and examined with much curiosity a quaint old house, rather tumbled down at second glance, but with an air of comfort about it that no amount of disrepair could overcome.

Smoke was pouring out of the middle chimney and the reflection on the small window panes indicated that there was a roaring fire in the front room.

What the place looked like on the inside was nothing more nor less than an old Spanish inn. Billie did not know this because she had never seen one, but the room reminded her vaguely of something very romantic and picturesque, and what was most curious about the place was that the outside seemed to have no connection whatever with the inside. They were not even related to each other by distant kinship. Outside were the dignified gray walls and gabled windows of an old seashore house. The inside appeared to be one very large room. The uneven floor was paved with red tile and in a big stone fireplace at one end burned an enormous fire of driftwood. From the blackened rafters hung garlands of red peppers, bunches of herbs and strings of onions and garlic. Shining copper vessels were ranged on shelves and around two sides of the room ran a gallery with steps leading up from one end.

“Am I in a dream,” cried Billie. “I feel as if I had been transported somewhere suddenly.”

“Isn’t it fascinating?” said Elinor. “The old house has been in Mrs. Ruggles’ family for two hundred years. It used to be a sort of sailors’ inn, and there are many stories connected with it. But here she comes herself. She’s just as wonderful as her house.”

Mrs. Ruggles was certainly a remarkable figure. She was very tall, one of the tallest women Billie had ever seen, with coal black hair, shiny dark eyes, rather too close together, a beaked eagle nose, and a very determined mouth, with a slightly humorous curve to the lips, which softened her somewhat stern face.

She wore a most outlandish dress for that part of the world, of striped red and black cotton, but she was scrupulously clean, and the coarse cotton kerchief tied around her neck was as white as snow. Her stockings also were white, and she wore men’s low shoes of enormous size, even for a woman of her height.

The boys and girls all shook hands with her as if she were an old friend. She called them by their first names and when she was introduced to Billie she gave her a long, keen look that seemed to read the young girl’s most hidden and secret thoughts. She walked with an erect carriage and majestic tread, and Billie had a feeling that she had been introduced to a personage.

“She’s a great old girl,” said Merry Brown, when Mrs. Ruggles had disappeared into the back regions of the house to finish cooking the dinner. “She can sail a boat as well as anybody along this coast. She fishes, digs for clams, catches lobsters in traps, and does all the things the fishermen around here do and more, too, because she is the jim dandiest cook in the county.”

“Hasn’t she any husband or family?” asked Billie.

“She was married twice. Ruggles, the second husband, was an Irishman. He was a fine fellow, a sea captain, but he died long ago. Her children are floating about the country somewhere.”

“What was her name before she married? Nothing like Ruggles, I am sure.”

“No, it was Sabater. Mrs. Ruggles’ father was captain of a schooner which carried freight up and down the coast. They say her grandfather was a great old fighter and came near being hanged as a spy by both sides in the Revolution.”

It was all very interesting, and Billie was still asking questions of the others when the carriage arrived with the rest of the party.

“Why, where is Fannie?” they demanded, noticing her absence from the depot wagon.

“She complained of a headache and went home,” answered Belle. “We met one of your vehicles on the road, Percy, coming from town, and she got in and drove back.”

“Too bad,” answered Percy. “But she’s very sensible if she doesn’t feel well. It’s a long drive and fairly chilly when it gets late.”

Fannie was not much missed, however, from the jolly party which now gathered around the crackling wood fire. Presently the inn-keeper, fish-woman, queen, whatever she was, led the girls up the narrow flight of stairs at one end of the room to the balcony, on which opened a row of little bedrooms, like ship cabins. She was a very silent, busy woman, and she did not linger while they smoothed their rumpled locks and washed the dust from their faces.

Billie, who also was not one to linger at the dressing table, went out on the gallery and stood looking down into the picturesque room. The place fascinated her and she strolled along, peeping into the other small rooms, where, no doubt, Mrs. Ruggles’ father and grandfather had put up many a seafaring guest in years gone by.

At the other end of the gallery were more rooms, and she could not resist the temptation to glance into them while she waited for the other girls. Two of the doors were open, one into a large empty room and one into a scantily furnished bedroom. The next door was half closed. Should she look in? Billie hesitated. It was very impolite of her, but she knew that old Mrs. Ruggles lived alone, and there could be no one to intrude on. She pushed the door gently and looked in, then retreated quickly. The room was not empty, after all. In the immense, old-fashioned bed so high that it was necessary to stand on a foot stool at one side in order to plunge into it, lay a woman. Billie thought she was asleep at first. Her eyes were closed and her long black hair was spread back of her on the pillow like a dusky mantel. The young girl stood transfixed on the threshold. Then the woman opened her eyes and looked straight into Billie’s.

“I beg your pardon,” said Billie politely, and backed away, her heart beating so fast that she almost choked for breath.

The others were just going downstairs, chatting and laughing together, even Belle Rogers, who seemed, somehow, softened and quite different. There was no chance to tell about the strange woman just then, and Billie kept her knowledge to herself. But the large dark eyes haunted her memory and she could not forget the face, of which she had caught only a fleeting glance.

Then came the dinner. Mrs. Ruggles did not wait on the guests. The dishes were placed on the table and they helped themselves, while Merry and Percy, with napkins over their arms, like well-trained butlers, removed one set of plates and brought on another.

Perhaps these young people, who were not epicures by any means, did not realize how delicious Mrs. Ruggles’ dinner really was. But an older and more experienced person would have appreciated some of those delightful concoctions of rice and pimentos, soup thick and rich, fowls done to a turn, and a dish of corn meal and chopped meat and tomatoes, like a Mexican tamale. But they enjoyed it and the pudding that followed and the cups of strong black coffee.

It was a merry meal, too, with jokes and songs and much laughter. Mrs. Ruggles moved ponderously about the room or sat silently by the fire. Occasionally her face lit up with a delightful smile, and she would turn and beam approvingly at Percy or Merry or Roly Poly McLane, who were the chief fun-makers.

After dinner Billie seized an opportunity to speak to the strange woman.

“We had a splendid dinner, Mrs. Ruggles,” she said. “I should think you would have lots of people stopping here in this delightful place.”

“The Inn is closed now,” she answered. “I don’t rent my rooms any more.”

“And you have no guests at all?” asked Billie.

Mrs. Ruggles looked at her for so long that Billie felt desperately uncomfortable.

“No,” she answered shortly, and began clearing off the table with a scowl that reminded Billie of some one somewhere.