"Mother," she called, "come here! There's somebody coming along the
Hardin road."

Her mother came.

"Who can it be?"

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven," counted Lilian. "There are
seven of them! Perhaps they will turn at the Climbing Hill Corners. They
can't be coming here."

"Get the glass," said Mrs. Wyman. "See if we can make them out before
they strike the valley."

Lilian ran after the glass. She adjusted it and raised it to her eyes.
She had only one glimpse, however, before the descending riders were
again hidden by an intervening ridge.

"They ride so wildly, mother!" she said, in a kind of breathless wonder.

"They must be skirting that hill along the creek," said Mrs. Wyman.
"We'll see in a minute if they come up from the Corners."

It seemed a long time before they came again in sight. Lilian had just
said, "They've turned on the Climbing Hill road," when they burst into
full view on a not-distant summit and halted.

Lilian could distinctly see them pointing, as if discussing the way to
take. Then, of one accord, they put spurs to their ponies and came
wildly dashing down the slope.