they spent the morning down at the brook. shirley was enchanted to be allowed to help build a dam—the height of his ambition, doctor hugh whimsically told them. shirley paddled around in the brook and brought him stones and he laid them in a chain that made a crude dam, both getting very warm and very wet and having a thoroughly enjoyable time of it.

rosemary had brought the camera and snapped a dozen poses of the sunny-haired shirley as she gamboled about with her skirts tucked up to her waist, looking like a particularly chubby elf. doctor hugh had done something to the camera that would, rosemary was sure, correct her tendency to overexpose a film and the results fully justified her faith; whether it was due to his manipulation of the "innards" of the camera or his instructions to her, the prints were exceptionally good and clear.

sarah, of course, devoted her morning to scrubbing the pig. the doctor's shouts of laughter could not persuade her to curtail the ceremony in the slightest detail. she had brought soap and towels and brush with her and she gravely scrubbed and rinsed and dried bony and put him out in the sun to dry.

"he'll bake," protested doctor hugh, when, the pig's bath finished, sarah arranged him on a dry towel in the sun. "you'll have roast pork, sarah, if you're not careful."

"no i won't," answered sarah confidently, straightening the pig's legs for him since he did not offer to move.

"can't he even grunt?" demanded doctor hugh who had never seen an animal so willing to be waited upon.

"of course he can grunt—" sarah was indignant. "he can do anything."

"when the sun dries him on that side, she'll turn him over on the other," whispered rosemary. "you'll see."

the dam was built, the roll of films used up and bony dry and immaculate by the time winnie rang the bell to tell them that lunch was ready.

"we must have a picnic," said doctor hugh as they went up to the house, he carrying shirley, who objected to putting on her socks and sandals, and sarah carrying the pig with almost as much care. "i haven't been to a picnic in years."

that afternoon he carried his mother off for a drive in the car, and the three girls were left to their own devices. rosemary's natural inclination was to find jack and ask him how his day was going, but mindful of her brother's advice, she resolved to wait. she was playing jack stones with shirley and sarah when mrs. hildreth came hurrying across the lawn.

"rosemary," she said, fanning her flushed face with her apron, "i wonder if you'd do me a favor. all the men are busy and i couldn't ask them to drop their work for such a trifle; and i have to grease the chickens for lice, so i can't go myself."

mrs. hildreth always seemed to choose the hottest days for the most unlovely tasks, reflected rosemary, but sarah held a different opinion.

"i'll come hold 'em for you, mrs. hildreth," she offered, rising in such haste that she almost knocked shirley off the step. "i love to see you grease chickens!"

"all right, i do need somebody to help me," said mrs. hildreth gratefully. "rosemary, miss clinton telephoned me this morning she wanted a dozen fresh eggs—why do they always say 'fresh eggs'?" she broke off irritably. "'tisn't likely i'd go out and get her a dozen stale eggs, even if i could find 'em. well, she wants them this afternoon and i hate to disappoint her. she's kind of used to getting what she wants and everybody feels sorry for her. i know you like to walk and when i saw your mother and brother going off in the car, i says, 'maybe she won't mind walking over there for me, having nothing else to do.'"

"i'll go," said rosemary pleasantly, "but where does this miss clinton live?"

mrs. hildreth gave minute directions for finding the house. it was close to the road, the same road that went past the gay farm, but in the opposite direction. it wasn't over a quarter of a mile and rosemary was to knock on the door and when someone called "come in" to lift the latch and enter.

"i'll take shirley with me," said rosemary, "and you'll tell winnie, won't you, mrs. hildreth? she went down to the mail box at the cross-roads to mail a letter and she'll wonder where we are when she comes back."

mrs. hildreth promised to tell winnie and she and sarah departed to begin their war on the chicken pests while rosemary and shirley set off to follow the back road to the little yellow house where miss clinton lived.

they found it without difficulty, knocked and heard someone call "come in," just as mrs. hildreth had predicted.

"how do you do?" said the same voice when they stepped directly into a large square room. "i'm very glad to see you."

a very tiny old lady sat in a wheel chair in the center of the room. her skin was almost as yellow as the paint on the house and considerably more wrinkled. she had bright black eyes that reminded rosemary of a bird and little, eager claw-like hands that were strangely bird-like, too. she beamed at the girls, plainly delighted to have company.

"i'm glad you came," she said when rosemary had given her the eggs and explained they were from rainbow hill. "mrs. hildreth told me the hammonds rented their house this summer. sit down and we'll talk. let the little girl play with the toys in the cabinet—she won't hurt 'em."

the cabinet stood in one corner of the room and was well stocked with toys, some new, some well-worn. shirley sat down on the floor and amused herself contentedly while miss clinton kept up a running fire of comment till rosemary's wrist watch showed half-past four.

"i wish you'd come see me again," said the old lady wistfully. "i get lonesome for someone to talk to. i get around pretty good in this chair and i have lots of books and papers to read; but i like to talk and summers everyone is so busy they don't think to drop in."

"i'll drop in," promised rosemary impulsively. "mother would come to see you, too, but she couldn't walk this far; perhaps hugh, my brother, will bring her some day."

"let me have my knitting, if you're really going," said miss clinton regretfully. "it's there in that basket beside you. that's my sixth bedspread, or will be, when i get it finished."

"what beautiful work!" exclaimed rosemary as the old lady spread the knitted square over her knee. "how fine it is—isn't it very difficult?"

"not a bit," miss clinton assured her. "i do it when my eyes get tired of reading print. i'll teach you how to make a spread, if you'll come see me now and then," she offered quickly. "they tell me they're worth seventy-five dollars apiece but i never sell mine; i give them to relatives and friends."

rosemary and shirley said good by and were half way down the path when the door was opened and miss clinton called after them:

"bring the little girl with you, too; i'll get her something new to play with when she gets tired of the cabinet toys."

"rosemary," said shirley, skipping happily—she seldom walked, her brother said, but ran or hopped her way along—"rosemary, what is there?"

"where?" said rosemary, puzzled.

"there," insisted shirley, pointing behind her.

"why, nothing—except miss clinton's house—you know that, shirley," replied rosemary.

"no, not miss clinton's house," said shirley, shaking her head. "next to that, rosemary."

"you mean around the curve?" asked rosemary, for the road curved sharply beyond the big maples that marked the line of miss clinton's property.

shirley nodded.

"what is there?" she repeated.

"i don't know, dear," rosemary admitted. "i've never been that far. do you want to go and see? we have time, i think."

shirley slipped a small hand into her sister's.

"let's go," she said eagerly.

rosemary had often felt a curiosity to know what was beyond a bend in a road, but she never remembered making a deliberate attempt to gratify that feeling. shirley, having been made curious, had no mind to go away unsatisfied.

they turned and walked back, rosemary hoping the little old lady might not see them. but she was nowhere in sight and was, in all probability, absorbed in her knitting.

"maybe the three bears live around the corner," suggested shirley, beginning to regret her curiosity as they neared the turn.

"the big bear and the middle bear and the little bear?" said rosemary. "i wonder if they do? in a cunning little house, shirley, with three beds and three porridge bowls—wouldn't that be fun?"

shirley pressed closer. she preferred to hear about the three bears, rather than meet them face to face.

a few minutes' walk brought them to the curve and around it—and there was a vegetable stand; almost a small market, with fruits and garden produce attractively displayed and a number of boldly painted signs announcing that fresh eggs and dressed poultry were for sale on specified days of the week.

"is it a store?" asked shirley, much interested.

"it's like a store," rosemary told her. "i remember hugh was telling mother something about this plan the other night. he said that down on the shore road he saw lots and lots of stands, when he spent his summers at seapoint. and he was wondering why some of the farmers inland didn't do this—sell to people who have automobiles."

"do people come and buy?" asked shirley, staring at the tomatoes as though she had never seen that homely vegetable before.

"yes, they come out in their cars, from bennington and further away, i suppose," said rosemary. "and they buy all this stuff fresh and take it home with them. i wonder who takes care of the stand?"

a sharp, thin, freckled face rose slowly from behind the tiers of baskets and a reedy voice announced, "i do—want to buy anything?"

rosemary jumped. she had not known there was anyone near. now she saw the owner of the freckled face was a girl, a few years older than herself.

"do you take care of the stand?" rosemary asked, smiling her friendly smile.

the freckle-faced one nodded.

"that's my job summers," she confided. "winters i'm studying. i'm going to be a school teacher. what are you going to be?"

rosemary pulled shirley back from a contemplated investigation of a basket of early pears.

"why—i don't believe i know," she answered the question. "i've thought of being a nurse—my brother hugh is a doctor; or i might be a music teacher."

"i'm going to teach school," the other girl declared again. "i'm going to have some pretty dresses and go to the city every saturday, if i have a mind to. what's your name?"

"rosemary willis," rosemary answered meekly. "this is my sister, shirley."

"i'm edith barrow," the girl announced. "i don't live here, except in summer. i help mr. and mrs. mains—know them?"

rosemary shook her head.

"we're here for the summer," she replied.

"renters," said edith barrow as though that catalogued the willis family as perhaps it did. "well, when i'm going to school i live with my aunt. she boards students. i don't suppose you're in high school yet?"

"don't touch those onions, shirley," rosemary warned. "no, i'm not in high school—not for a year. in june i'll graduate from the eastshore grammar school," she explained.

"do you like keeping store?" asked shirley, who had kept still longer than usual. she may have thought it was her turn to ask questions.

"this isn't a store—it's a stand," edith corrected her. "yes, i like it well enough. i took in twelve dollars yesterday. you have to be good at arithmetic to make change; that's why mr. mains likes me to be out here. mrs. mains can't tell how much money to give back when she gets a bill from a customer."

"have you any candy?" was shirley's next query.

"not a bit," edith barrow answered. "only things that are good for you to eat. candy makes you sick. did you know that?"

rosemary couldn't help thinking that, young as she was, edith already talked like a school teacher.

"like the fussy kind," rosemary emended to herself.

"here comes a car now," said the young saleswoman suddenly. "they're going to stop—i know them. i hope they'll want tomatoes today. we haven't much else."

"we'll have to go," rosemary declared hastily. "good by—say good by, shirley."

"she isn't looking at me," complained shirley and indeed edith was centering her attention on the coming car and her thoughts were evidently all for the approaching sale.

"jack would say she was chasing success," rosemary told herself smiling as she took shirley's hand and led her away.

doctor hugh and his mother were on the porch when rosemary and shirley reached the house, but sarah was nowhere in sight. when a few minutes later she walked out among them, radiantly clean, attired in fresh tan linen, her shining dark hair neatly brushed, her family welcomed her with delighted surprise.

"how nice you look!" said her mother appreciatively.

"i wish you could have seen her half an hour ago," announced winnie from the doorway.

her words were in direct opposition to her desire, for she went on to say that she had met sarah as the latter came from the chicken yard.

"she was grease from head to foot," pronounced winnie, while sarah sat down on the rug and looked innocent. "you'd have thought, to look at her, that mrs. hildreth had been greasing her and not the chickens; there were feathers in her hair and dirt ground into her face and hands, and she must have been sitting in the dust pile where the chickens scratch. i had to give her a bath and change every stitch of her clothes, because i was afraid you wouldn't know her. and if dinner is late to-night, you can thank sarah baton willis."

"i'll come set the table." offered rosemary, jumping up.

as she laid the knives and forks, she told winnie about her visit to miss clinton.

"i know her," declared winnie, slicing bread—she had fastened back the communicating door between the kitchen and the dining-room. "at least i know of her; mrs. hildreth was telling me the other day. she's a woman who likes company—that's all she wants and all she doesn't get, summer times at least. i never saw a neighborhood like this one—i don't believe any of the farmers dare die in july or august for fear their friends couldn't stop farming long enough to come to the funeral."

rosemary giggled.

"is she poor, winnie?" she asked with frank curiosity.

"my, no, not that i have heard tell of," answered winnie. "she has an income of her own and plenty of relatives, scattered hereabouts. i believe a niece comes and stays with her during the winter months—her brother's daughter. mrs. hildreth was telling me that she writes hundreds of letters—though i guess she can't write as many as that—and she wheels herself out to the mail box and back in that chair and washes dishes and everything, sitting in it. but summers she gets fearfully lonesome. the neighbors run in a good deal in the winter and hold sewing-circle meetings there, but they haven't time to bother in the growing season."

"she had toys in a cabinet—shirley played with them and she said she'd get her some more if she tired of those," said rosemary, placing the chairs. "do many children go see her, winnie?"

"mrs. hildreth told me she keeps those toys to amuse the children who may come visiting with their mothers," explained winnie. "miss clinton figured that if the children had something to play with they wouldn't be in a hurry to go home. downright pathetic, i call it, to be so hungry for someone to talk to that you try to bribe people to stay a little longer."

"i'm going to see her," rosemary said, as she filled the water glasses. "i told her i'd come—it isn't far to go and i have plenty of time. can i do anything more, winnie?"

"nothing except to tell your mother dinner is ready," was winnie's grateful reply. "you are the handiest child, sometimes, rosemary, and i declare i don't know how i should have got dinner on the table to-night without a bit of a lift. i hate to be late, too, when hughie is here."

"i hope jack comes up to talk to-night," said rosemary as they sat down at the table. "i want to know if it is fun to earn your own living. i'm going to try it myself some day."