A Dear Little Girl's Summer Holidays Part 24

Ben laughed. "No, he was stiff from eating too many ramrods."

Edna knew this wasn't true, but she didn't ask any more questions just then. The train was nearing the familiar station where they were to get off. She wondered if Celia and the boys, or Celia and Agnes would be there to meet them. She thought it very likely, as the family must know they would arrive about this time.

But as the train moved off there was no sign of any of their friends.

"They didn't come after all," said Edna to Dorothy. "I wonder if they know Ben is with us?"

"Why, how could they know. Did you tell them on the post-card you wrote from Boston, or the one you sent Celia from Concord?"

"No. Did you say anything about it?"

"Not a word."

"Then that will be a sort of surprise, for even if they expect us they won't expect Ben."

It was not a very long walk from the station to the home of either little girl, though it had appeared long enough to Edna one evening the winter before when she had been caught in a snow-storm.

"I won't stop," said Dorothy, when they had reached Edna's gate. "I can scarcely wait to see mother."

"I feel just that way," said Edna. "Will you come over this evening?"

"Maybe. I can't promise, for I shall hate to leave them all. You come over."

"But I shan't want to leave them all either. I reckon we'd better wait till to-morrow."

"All right. Good-bye till then." And Dorothy started off at a run while Edna and Ben turned in at the gate.

How quiet it seemed! No one was on the porch, and the sound of their voices did not bring anyone down from upstairs. "I wonder where they all are. I'll go up very softly and s'prise them," whispered Edna to Ben, "and in a little while you come up and have another s'prise."

Ben nodded understandingly and Edna crept softly up the stairs. There was no sound of voices anywhere. "They must all be asleep," the child murmured, but as it was just about lunch time, that seemed to be rather an unusual state of things. She went from room to room. Not a soul was to be seen.

"That is the funniest thing," said Edna disappointedly. "I wonder where in the world everybody can be. Surely they could not be hiding," but to make sure she looked in closets and even under the beds, then she went slowly downstairs to Ben.

"There isn't a soul anywhere," she told him. "Oh, Ben, I am so dreadfully disappointed. What do you suppose has become of everybody?"

"Can't say, my dear. Have you interviewed the cook? I thought I heard sounds of life in the kitchen."

"Why, of course I can ask her. I never thought of that." She flew to the kitchen. "Oh, Lizzie," she cried, "where is everybody?"

"Saints above!" cried Lizzie, "and where did ye come from all of a suddint like this?"

"Why, we came out on the train!"

"Not by yerself?"

"No, Dorothy and Cousin Ben came with me."

"Hear to that now. And didn't ye see the mother nor none of thim that's gone to meet ye?"

"Why, no! When did they go to meet us?"

"This morning. Sure it was your mother that said, 'Thim children will be gettin' in fair and airly and I'll just be goin' in to Misther Ramsey's office and meet thim when they git there and bring thim right along with me.' Thin Miss Ceely speaks up and says, 'I'll be goin,'

too.'"

"But we didn't go to Mr. Ramsey's office. We left him in New York and Cousin Ben Barker brought us on from there."

"Did ye ever hear the likes of that now? She'll be as disappinted as yerself when she gets there and doesn't find ye."

"Where are the boys?"

"They're off too. When they learns that their mother was going to town they says we'll go to one of the neighbors, I disremember which one it was, but they says they won't be back to lunch, bein' as they don't like to ate without the ithers. Have ye had any lunch yerself, child?"

"No, and neither has Cousin Ben."

"Then, jest you kape quiet and I'll have ye a bite in three shakes.

Run along in and tell Mr. Barker not to be oneasy, that he shall have something right away."

Edna returned to Ben with her tale of cross purposes. "Do you suppose mother will be worried when she gets to Mr. Ramsey's office and finds we haven't come?"

"It is possible she might be. I reckon I'd better telephone in and tell them that we have arrived and if Mrs. Conway comes to tell her we are here. I'll call up your father, too."

"Oh, that will be the very best thing to do."

But Ben learned that Mrs. Conway had been to Mr. Ramsey's office, and not finding her daughter had gone at once to her husband's office. From this latter point it was learned that Mr. and Mrs. Conway and their daughter had just gone out to lunch. "Haven't been gone five minutes,"

Ben was told. "Say to Mr. Conway when he comes in that his daughter Edna is at home," said Ben and then he hung up the receiver. "Can't get anyone of them," he told Edna, "but your father will hear where you are as soon as he gets back. In the meantime we'll have to make the best of it."

They made the best of it by eating the very good lunch which Lizzie prepared, and then Edna's trunk having arrived she set to work to unpack it, being glad to release Virginia from her long confinement.

Next it seemed a good plan to hunt up her old dolls and introduce them to this lovely new sister.

Ben, who had grown tired of waiting for his aunt and cousin, went to the house of one of his friends, and after Edna had seen that all her children were in good condition she seated herself at one of the front windows to watch for her mother. It seemed very funny that it should be she who was watching for someone to come instead of someone watching for her. She would not go to Dorothy's for fear she should miss her mother and sister, and likewise for the reason that she felt it would be a very flat report she would have to make to Dorothy of her homecoming.

She sat for what seemed a long time, but at last her patience was rewarded by seeing a group of four coming up the road, and as they drew near she saw that it was not only her own mother and sister, but Dorothy's likewise who had gone to town to meet the travelers.

She could hardly wait to get down stairs, and she heard Celia's surprised voice say, "Why there she is now," and in another minute she was in her mother's arms.

"Why, you little rogue," cried Mrs. Conway, when the hugging and kissing had ceased. "You have certainly stolen a march on us all. How did you get here?"

"Is Dorothy with you?" asked Mrs. Evans anxiously.

"She isn't here with me, but she is at home," Edna made reply.

"Oh, then, we must hurry along," said Mrs. Evans, and without waiting to hear more particulars she and her daughter Agnes hastened away.

Then Mrs. Conway sat down and gathered Edna to her. "It is so nice to have my baby again," she said. "I don't believe I can ever consent to let her stay so long away another time. Now tell me all about it. How did you happen to get here so early and why didn't I find you at Mr.

Ramsey's office as I expected?"

"Did you expect to find us there?"

"Why, certainly, Mrs. Ramsey wrote that you would come back with her husband, and that you would arrive at about noon, so naturally I didn't expect Mr. Ramsey to bring you all the way out here, besides his clerks told me that he had not returned, but had telephoned from New York that he would arrive this evening. So of course I thought you would not get here till then."