That was harder to do than she had imagined, for as she passed Judge
Moore's place the deserted house added to her feeling of loneliness. Andy,
the old gardener, was cutting the grass on the front lawn. She called to
him.

"When is the family coming out from town, Andy?"

"Not this summer, Miss Lloyd," he answered. "It'll be the first summer in
twenty years that the Judge has missed. He has taken a cottage at the
seaside, and they're all going there. The house will stay closed, just as
you see it now, I reckon, for another year."

"At the seashore!" she echoed. "Not coming out!" She almost gasped, the
news was so unexpected. Here was another disappointment, and a very sore
one. Every summer, as far back as she could remember, Rob Moore had been
her favourite playfellow. Now there would be no more mad Tam O'Shanter
races, with Rob clattering along beside her on his big iron-gray horse. No
more good times with the best and jolliest of little neighbours. A summer
without Rob's cheery whistle and good-natured laugh would seem as empty
and queer as the woods without the bird voices, or the meadows without the
whirr of humming things. She rode slowly on.

There was no letter for her when she stopped at the post-office to inquire
for the mail. The girls on whom she called afterward were not at home, so
she rode aimlessly around the Valley until nearly lunch-time, wishing for
once that it were a school-day. It was the longest Saturday morning she
had ever known. She could not practise her music lesson for fear of making
her mother's headache worse. She could not go near the kitchen, where she
might have found entertainment, for Aunt Cindy was in one of her black
tempers, and scolded shrilly as she moved around among her shining tins.