and they
were sure that Scorch would be at home--for it was evidently his home
address that he had given to them.

They asked a policeman how to find Payne Street and he kindly put them
on a car which took the two girls to the corner of that thoroughfare. It
was a street of small cottages, and empty lots, and goats, and many,
many dirty-faced children. Some of these last ran after Nancy and Jennie
and made faces at them as they sought out Number 307.

"But as long as the goats don't run after us and make faces, I don't
care," declared Jennie.

Just then one nanny looked over a fence and said "Ba-a-a-a!" in a very
loud tone, and Jennie almost jumped into the middle of the street.

"Come out! Come on!" she cried, urging her friend onward. "Goats are
always butting in."

A derisive chorus of "ba's" followed them as they hurried along the
street.

"There's 307!" cried Nancy, pointing.

The cottage in question was a rather neater-looking place than its
neighbors. There was a fence which really was strong enough, and had
pickets enough (if some of them _were_ barrel-staves) to keep wandering
goats out of the yard. There was a garden at the back, and a bit of
grass in front, with a path bordered by half bricks painted with
whitewash a dazzling white.

The porch and steps were scrubbed clean, too; it might have been a sign
of Mrs. O'Brien's trade, that porch.

There were ducks, and geese, and poultry, too; but all fenced off with
wire from the front and from the garden. And the girls heard the hungry
grunting of a pig in its sty.

There was a good deal of noise within the house, too. The girls could
hear childish voices in a great hullabaloo, a good-natured, but broadly
Irish voice chiming in with them, and likewise a scampering across the
floor which must have made the cottage rock again.

"He'd never hear us whistle in the world!" giggled Jennie.

"How funny we'd look standing here on the street and whistling, anyway!"
replied Nancy.

"And then, _I_ never could whistle," confessed Jennie. "Somehow I can't
get my lips to pucker right."

"Why! neither can I!" cried Nancy. "I didn't think of that. We couldn't
signal to Scorch by whistling, anyway."

"Unless we borrowed a policeman's whistle--or a postman's," said Jennie.
"What'll we do?"

"Come on and knock," said Nancy. "We can make them hear somehow."

Which proved to be true. The girls made those inside hear at their
first summons. Silence fell upon the