"Yeth, tho am I," lisped little Grace Thompson.

"You have arranged for us at the hotel for to-night, haven't you?"
demanded Jane McCarthy. "Father said you would look after these
matters for me."

"It's all right, Miss. We'll go to the postoffice now. I'll look
after your baggage when we get you settled for the night. We won't
take it away from the station till we talk over what you want to do.
Are you ready?"

They walked down the street, laughing and chatting, a happy lot of
girls, followed by a group of curious villagers, who even accompanied
them into the post-office. It was unusual to see so many pretty girls
in Compton, for summer visitors seldom came to the place. Furthermore,
these were different from any visitors ever seen there, so far as dress
was concerned. While waiting for the mail to be distributed, the girls
laughed and talked, apparently utterly oblivious of the presence of the
staring villagers. Miss Elting inquired for mail for the party as soon
as the wicket was opened.

"Here, Tommy, is a letter for you," she smiled. Grace took the letter
eagerly. "And here are letters for Harriet, Hazel, and Margery. There
is one for me, too. It is from your father, Jane."

"I have a letter here from Dad. I--will you look at that?" Jane stood
staring at the window. For a brief instant she had caught sight of a
man wearing a huge pair of goggles. He was peering through the
post-office window at them. But as she looked, the man disappeared.