home, we'll go ovah to Bobby's."

As she spoke, she passed through the gate at the end of the avenue and
turned into the public road, a wide pike with a railroad track on one
side of it and a bridle-path on the other. Two minutes' brisk canter
brought her to another gate, one that had been closed all winter, and
one that she was greatly interested in, because it led to Judge Moore's
house. Judge Moore was Rob's grandfather, and she and Rob had played
together every summer since she could remember.

The wide white gate was standing open now, and she drew rein, peering
anxiously in. She hoped for the sight of a familiar freckled face or the
sound of a welcoming whoop. But it was so still everywhere that all she
saw was the squirrels playing hide and seek in the beech-grove around
the house, and all she heard was the fearless cry, "Pewee! pewee!" of a
little bird perched in a tree overarching the gate. It balanced itself
on the limb, leaning over and cocking its bright bead-like eyes at her,
as if admiring the sight.

What it saw was a slender girl of eleven, taller than most children of
that age, and more graceful. There was a colour in her cheek like the
delicate pink of a wild rose, and the big hazel eyes had a roguish
twinkle in them, as they looked out fearlessly on the world from under
the little Napoleon hat with its nodding cockade of locust blossoms.

"There's nobody in sight, Tarbaby," said the Little Colonel, "and there
isn't time to go in befo' we've been to the post-office, so we might as
well be travellin' on."

She was turning slowly away when down the pike behind her came the quick