"Oh, you can't help it, Lucas," she said. "But I'll never come to this place with you again. Don't expect it!"

The amusing but sometimes merely foolish paragraphs were reeled off, one after the other. Sometimes the crowd shouted with laughter; sometimes there was almost dead silence as Miss Lowry delivered a particularly hard hit, or one that was not entirely understood at first.

"And it came to pa.s.s in those days that certain damsels of the Pounder's Brook Temperance Club gathered themselves together in one place, and saith, the one to the other:

"Is it not so that the young men of Pounder's Brook are no longer attracted by our girls? They no longer care to listen to our songs, or when we play upon the harp or psaltery. They pa.s.s us by with unseeing vision. Verily an Easter bonnet no longer catcheth the eye of the wayward youth, and holdeth his attention. Selah.

"Therefore spake one damsel to the others gathered together, and sayeth: 'Surely we are not wise. The young men of our tribe goeth after strange G.o.ds. Therefore, let us awake, and go forth, and show the wisdom of serpents and--each and every one of us--start a boarding house!'"

The young men, who had begun to look exceedingly foolish during this harangue, suddenly broke into a chorus of laughter. Even Lucas and Harris Colesworth could not hide a grin, and the school teacher hid his face from the company.

The whole room was a-roar. Lyddy and 'Phemie suffered under the indignity--and yet 'Phemie could scarcely forbear a grin. It was a coa.r.s.e joke, but laughter is contagious--even when the joke is against oneself.

Miss Lowry gave them no time to recover from this _bon mot_. She went on with:

"And it was said of a certain young man, as he rode on the way to Bridleburg, that he was met by another youth, who halted and asked a question of the traveler. But the traveler was strangely smitten at that moment, and all he could do was to _bray_."

There were no more shots at the Hillcrest folk after that--at least, if there were, the Bray girls did not hear them. The "Chronicles" came to an end at last. Somehow the sisters got away from the hateful place with their escorts.

"But don't ever ask me to go to that schoolhouse again," said Lyddy, who was infrequently angry and so, when she displayed wrath, was the more impressive. "I think, Lucas, the people around here are the most ill-mannered and brutal folk who ever lived. They are in the stone age.

They should be living in caves in the hillside and be wearing skins of wild animals instead of civilized clothing."

"Yes, ma'am," replied Lucas, gently. "I reckon it looks so to you. But they have all got used to Mayme Lowry's shots--it's give an' take with most of 'em."

"There is no excuse--there _can_ be no excuse for such cruelty,"

reiterated Lyddy. "And we never have done a single thing knowingly to hurt them."

Harris Colesworth was silent, but 'Phemie saw that his eyes danced. He only said, soothingly:

"They are a different cla.s.s from your own, Miss Lydia. They look on life differently. You cannot understand them any more than they can understand you. Forget it!"

But that was more easily said than done. Forget it, indeed! Lydia declared when she went to bed with 'Phemie that she still "burned all over" at the recollection of the impudence of that Lowry girl!

Of course, common sense should have come to the aid of the Bray sisters and aided them to scorn the matter. "Overlook it" was the wise thing to do. But a tiny thorn in the thumb may irritate more than a much more serious injury.

Lyddy considered Mr. Somers quite as much at fault for what had happened at the meeting as anybody else. He was nominally in charge of the temperance meeting. On the other hand 'Phemie decided that she would not be seen so much in Lucas's company--although Lucas was a loyal friend.

The morrow was the first Sunday of the month of May, and its dawn promised as perfect a day as the month ever produced. Now the girls' flower gardens were made, the vines 'Phemie had planted were growing, the old lawns about the big farmhouse were a vernal green and the garden displayed many promising rows of spring vegetables.

The girls were up early and swept the great porch all the way around the house, and set several comfortable old chairs out where they would catch the morning sun for the early risers.

The earliest of the boarders to appear was Harris Colesworth, wrapped in a long raincoat and carrying a couple of bath towels over his arm.

"I found a fine swimming hole up yonder in the brook where it comes through the back of the farm," he declared to the sisters. "It's going to be pretty cold, I know; but nothing like a beginning. I hope to get a plunge in that brook every morning that I am up here."

And he went away cheerfully whistling. A moment later 'Phemie saw Professor Spink dart out of the side door and peer after the departing Harris, around a corner of the house. The professor did not know that he was observed. He shook his head, scowled, stamped his foot, and finally ran in for his hat and followed upon Harris's track.

"He's suspicious of everybody who goes up there to the rocks," thought 'Phemie. "What under the sun is it Spink's got up there?"

Later in the day--it was an hour or more before their usual Sunday dinner time--something else happened which quite chased the professor's odd actions out of 'Phemie's mind--and it gave the rest of the household plenty to talk about, too.

The procession of carriages going to Cornell Chapel had pa.s.sed some time since when another vehicle was spied far down the road toward Bridleburg.

A faint throbbing in the air soon a.s.sured the watchers on Hillcrest that this was an automobile.

Not many autos climbed this stiff hill to Adams; there was a longer and better road which did not touch Bridleburg and the Pounder's Brook District at all. But this big touring car came pluckily up the hill, and it did not slow down until it reached the bottom of the Hillcrest lane.

There were several people in the car, and one, a lithe and active youth, leaped out and ran up the lane. Plainly he came to ask a question, for he dashed across the front yard toward where the family party were sitting on the porch.

"Oh, I say," he began, doffing his cap to the girls, "can you tell a fellow----"

His gaze had wandered, and now his speech trailed off into silence and his eyes grew as large as saucers. He was staring at the placidly-knitting Mrs. Castle, who sat listening to the Professor's booming voice.

"Grandma! Great--jumping--horse--chestnuts!" the youth yelled.

Mrs. Castle dropped her ball of yarn, and it went rolling down the steps into the gra.s.s. She laid down her knitting, took off the spectacles and wiped them, and them put them on again the better to see the amazed youth below her.

"Well," she said, at length, "I guess I'm caught."

CHAPTER XXII

THE HIDDEN TREASURE

"I'm going to call up the governor--and mom--and Lucy--and Jinny," gasped the young fellow, who had so suddenly laid claim to being Mrs. Castle's grandson. "I just want them to _see_ you, Grandma. Why--why, _where_ did you ever get those duds? And for all the world!--_you're knitting!_"

"You can call 'em up, Tommy," said the old lady, placidly. "I've got the bit in my teeth now, and I'm going to stay."

"Can we drive in here?" asked Master Tom, quickly, of the girls, whom he instinctively knew were in charge.

"Yes," said Lyddy. "Of course any friends of Mrs. Castle's will be welcome."

Tom sang out for the chauffeur to turn into the lane, and in a minute or two the motor party stopped in the gra.s.s-grown driveway within plain view of the people on the porch.

"Will you look at who's here?" demanded Master Tom, standing with his legs wide apart and waving his arms excitedly.

The rather stout, ruddy-faced man reading the Sunday paper dropped the sheet and gazed across at the bridling old lady.

"Why, Mother!" he cried.

"Grandma--if it isn't!" exclaimed one young lady, who was about nineteen.

"Mother Castle!" gasped the lady who sat beside Mr. Castle on the rear seat.

"Hullo, Grandma!" shouted the other girl, who was younger than Tom.