Pandemonium reigned in Dolittle Cottage. There was a wild rush of white-robed figures for the hall, just as a girl in a dress that had once been white, and with dark circles under her eyes, came flying up the stairs. Peggy forgot her aching limbs and weariness in the transport of that moment. And then there was a little time of silence, broken only by the sound of happy sobbing, and everybody was kissing everybody else, without a.s.signing any especial reason, and laughing through glad tears.

The appearance of Mrs. Cole, with Dorothy in her arms, was the signal for another outbreak, and perhaps Dorothy's manifest ill-humor was fortunate on the whole, for something of the sort was needed to bring the excited household down to the wholesome plane of every-day living.

Camping out did not agree with Dorothy. She had caught a slight cold from her wetting, and her night's rest had been far from satisfactory.

And now to be seized and pa.s.sed from hand to hand like a box of candy, while people kissed and cried over her, was too much for her long-tried temper. She screamed and struggled and finally put a stop to further affectionate demonstrations by slapping Amy with one hand, while with the other she knocked off Aunt Abigail's spectacles.

"She's tired to death, poor little angel," cried Mrs. Cole, generously ignoring the fact that Dorothy's conduct was the reverse of angelic.

"She wants to get to bed and to sleep, and so do the rest of you, before Lucy and me have the lot sick on our hands."

"Oh, I couldn't sleep," protested Peggy, "and I want to wait till Jerry comes, and find out if he stopped Joe from sending that telegram."

"And we're dying to hear everything that's happened," Amy cried, "and, besides, I'm afraid to go to sleep for fear I'll dream that this is only a dream."

But Mrs. Cole was firm, and Lucy Haines, who had come to the cottage before sunrise, added her entreaties to the older woman's insistence.

Then everybody discovered that Peggy was very pale, and Dorothy did some more slapping, and Mrs. Cole's motion was carried. Although every girl of them, and Aunt Abigail as well, had protested her utter inability to sleep, it was not fifteen minutes before absolute quiet reigned in the second story of the cottage. Wheels ground up the driveway again and again, and penetrating, if kindly, voices made inquiries under the open windows, but none of the sleepers waked till noon.

Jerry Morton, coming to report the success of his mission, was more than a little disappointed not to secure an immediate interview with Peggy.

But Lucy, who was peeling potatoes in antic.i.p.ation of the time when hunger should act as an alarm clock, in the hushed second story, bade him sit down and wait. "I know she'll want to see you. She was so worried for fear the news would get to her mother."

"Well, it came mighty near it, I can tell you. Joe was just ahead of me.

When I got in he was saying to the operator, 'Rush this, will you?' and I grabbed his coat and said nix." Jerry's tired face lighted up with satisfaction, and Lucy regarded him rather enviously. It seemed to her that Jerry was getting more than his share. He had found the castaways, and had spared Friendly Terrace the shock of the mistaken news, while Lucy with equally good will, was forced to content herself with peeling potatoes and like humble services.

"How did you ever come to think of looking for them?" she asked, wishing that the happy idea had occurred to her, instead of to Jerry.

"I didn't. 'Twas just a stroke of luck." Jerry told the story of his night's wandering, a recital as interesting to himself as to Lucy, for as yet he had hardly had time to formulate the record of what had happened. Before they had exhausted the fascinating theme there were sounds overhead which told that the late sleepers were at last astir.

They kept open house at Dolittle Cottage that afternoon. The country community, aroused by the news of the supposed tragedy, and then by the word that all was well, gave itself up to rejoicing. Vehicles of every description creaked up the driveway, bringing whole families to offer their congratulations. Though farm work was pressing, Mr. Silas Robbins drove over with his wife and daughter, and patted Peggy's shoulder, and pinched Dorothy's cheek. Luckily a morning in bed had done much to restore Dorothy to her normal mood, and though she bestowed a withering glance upon the gentleman who had taken this liberty, she did not retaliate in the fashion Peggy feared.

"Couldn't think of letting _you_ get drowned, you know," remarked Mr. Robbins with ponderous humor. "A girl who can speechify the way you can, might get to be president some day, if the women's rights folks should win out. I don't say," concluded Mr. Robbins, with the air of making a great concession, "that I mightn't vote for you myself."

Mr. Smart, too, dropped in to secure additional information for the write-up, which he informed Peggy would appear in the next issue of the _Weekly Arena_. "Though but a country editor," said Mr. Smart feelingly, "I believe that the Press ought to be reliable, and I'm doing my part to make it so. No yellow journalism in the _Arena_." And he showed a little natural disappointment on discovering that even this a.s.surance did not reconcile Peggy to the prospect of figuring as a newspaper heroine.

One of the surprises of the day was Mrs. Snooks' appearance. Never since her education had been taken in hand by the occupants of Dolittle Cottage, had she darkened its doors. But now she came smiling, and with an evident determination to regard bygones as bygones. For when she had expatiated at some length on the effect of Elisha's harrowing news upon her nerves, and had repeated in great detail what she had said to Mr.

Snooks, and what Mr. Snooks had said to her, she gave a crowning proof of magnanimity.

"Now, I've got to be getting back home. Mr. Snooks is a wonderful good-natured man, but he likes his victuals on time, same as most men-folks. I wonder if you could lend me a loaf of bread? I was just that worked up this morning that I didn't get 'round to set sponge."

The bread-box was well filled, thanks to Mrs. Cole, and Peggy insisted on accompanying Mrs. Snooks to the kitchen and picking out the largest loaf. She also suggested that Mrs. Snooks should take home a sample of the new breakfast food they all liked so much. As they parted on the doorstep Peggy was sure that the last shadow of their misunderstanding had lifted, for Mrs. Snooks turned to say, "I got a new cooky cutter from the tin peddler the other day--real pretty. And any time you'd like to use it, you're perfectly welcome."

Even then the surprises of the eventful day were not over. For late in the afternoon, when the kindly strangers occupying the porch chairs were just announcing that they guessed they'd have to move on, two figures came up the walk at a swinging pace. Ruth who was a little in the background was the first to notice them, and she was on her feet in a moment, with a glad cry. There was a general movement in the direction of the new arrivals, but Ruth was the first to reach them.

"Oh, Graham! Oh, Graham! You don't know--"

"Yes, I've heard all about it," Graham said in a voice not quite natural. The two boys on their way back to the city had stopped for dinner at the farmhouse where Peggy had taken breakfast, and had been favored with all the details of what Jack called the "near tragedy,"

though his effort at facetiousness was far from expressing his real feelings.

It was distinctly disappointing to the girls to find that their visitors planned to continue their trip next morning. "My vacation's up Sat.u.r.day," explained Jack Rynson. "And Graham thinks he's loafed as long as he should."

"And Elaine is going to-morrow," sighed Peggy. "I almost wish--" She checked herself abruptly.

"Dear old Friendly Terrace," Amy murmured. "Seems as if we'd been away a year."

"Well, we'll be starting in ten days or so," said Priscilla, with an air of trying to make the best of things.

Peggy flashed a surprised glance about the circle. "Girls, why, girls! I believe we'd all like to go home to-morrow! Then let's."

There was no doubt as to the popularity of the suggestion. The strain of those few hours when shadows darker than those of night hung over Dolittle Cottage, had implanted in the hearts of all the longing for home. In the clamor of eager voices there was no dissent, only questioning whether so hasty a departure were possible. And when this was decided in the affirmative, hilarity reigned.

"You must all stay to supper," Peggy declared, overflowing in joyous hospitality. "There won't be enough of anything to go around, but there's any amount of things that must be eaten." Graham and Jack accepted the invitation as a matter of course, and Lucy and Jerry yielded, after considerable insistence on Peggy's part. And on the faces which surrounded the dinner-table, lengthened for the occasion by an extra leaf, there was little to call to mind the black dream of the night.

It was an unusual supper in many ways. There were only half a dozen ears of corn, and the lima beans served out a teaspoonful to a plate. It was understood that whoever preferred sardines to corned beef might have his choice, but that it was a breach of etiquette to take both. However, since several varieties of jellies and preserves graced the table, and there was an abundance of Mrs. Cole's delicious bread, both white and brown, there was no danger that any one would rise from the meal with his hunger unsatisfied.

Peggy was busy planning while she ate. "Oh, dear, what in the world am I going to do with Hobo? I won't leave him without a home, that's sure.

And I don't know what Taffy'll say to me if I bring back another dog."

"I'll take him off your hands," said Jack Rynson.

Peggy leaned toward him with shining eyes. "Really? And would you like him? For I don't want you to take him just to oblige me."

Jack made haste to defend himself against such a charge. His home, it seemed, was on the outskirts of the city, and his mother sometimes complained that it was lonely, and would be glad, Jack was sure, of a good watch-dog. "And I'll get Graham to give him a certificate on that score," concluded Jack, with a meaning smile in the direction of his friend, who was always easily teased by references to the time when Hobo had rushed to the defence of Graham's sister against Graham himself.

"Oh, that's such a load off my mind," Peggy declared. "He can go with you to-morrow, can't he? And now there's one thing more, and that's his name."

"Yes?" Jack looked a little puzzled.

"I named him myself, and I've been ashamed of it ever since. For he never was a tramp dog, really. He wanted a home all the time, and people of his own to love and protect and be faithful to. And, if you don't mind, before he goes I'd like to change his name to Hero."

The emphasis on the last word roused Hobo, who was sleeping in the next room. Perhaps his ear was not sufficiently trained to the niceties of the English language to distinguish between this name and the other by which he had been addressed all summer. Be that as it may, in an instant he was at Peggy's elbow, looking up into her face, and wagging his tail.

"I believe he knows," cried Peggy, while the table shouted. The new name was unanimously endorsed, and with his re-christening, Peggy's canine protege discarded the last survival of his life as a wanderer.

"And now about the chickens," continued Peggy, whose face had lost its look of weariness in overflowing satisfaction. "I'm going to give them to you, Lucy. I'm sorry there's only three of them, but--"

"Two," Amy interrupted in a plaintive undertone from the other side of the table.

Peggy stared. "What! Has anything happened to Freckles?"

"No, he's all right. And so's the yellow hen, of course. But, Peggy, the other chicken has disappeared. Lucy noticed this morning that it was gone, and when all those people were here, she and I hunted everywhere.

And the old hen keeps on scratching and clucking just the same."

Peggy's countenance reflected the disgust of Amy's voice. "It isn't much of a gift, Lucy. That yellow hen is really the worst apology for a mother I ever imagined. Freckles is a nice chicken, but he's got some very bad faults. He _will_ come into the house whenever the screen door is left open, and he seems to have a perfect mania for picking shoe-b.u.t.tons and shoe-strings. I suppose it's because of the way he's been brought up, but he's so fond of human society that he makes a perfect nuisance of himself."

"Chicken pie would cure all those faults," suggested Graham, and they all laughed again at Peggy's expression of horror. "Didn't you tell me they'd bring forty cents a pound," the young man persisted, teasingly.

"Yes, but that was before I got acquainted with them. I couldn't turn even the yellow hen into chicken pie, much as I dislike her. The wonder to me," Peggy ended thoughtfully, "is that anybody ever makes money out of raising chickens."

Between the supper and the early bedtime there was much to be done.

Trunks were packed, except for the bedding and similar articles, which could not be dispensed with before the morning. The remnants of the groceries were bestowed on Mrs. Snooks, and some matters which the girls did not have time to attend to were left in charge of the capable Mrs.

Cole. Against everybody's protest, Peggy insisted on running over to the Cole farmhouse to say good-by. Graham acted as her escort, and the two were admitted by Rosetta Muriel, at the sight of whom Peggy gave an involuntary start.