ssy-willows," exclaimed 'Phemie, "and hepaticas in the
woods. Think of _that_, Lyddy Bray!"

"And the house will be as damp as the tomb--and not a stick of wood
cut--and no stoves," returned the older girl.

"Oh, dear, me! you're such an old grump!" ejaculated 'Phemie. "Why try
to cross bridges before you come to them?"

"Lucky for you, Miss, that I _do_ think ahead," retorted Lyddy with some
sharpness.

There was a grade before the train climbed into Bridleburg. Back of the
straggling old town the mountain ridge sloped up, a green and brown wall,
breaking the wind from the north and west, thus partially sheltering the
town. There was what farmers call "early land" about Bridleburg, and some
trucking was carried on.

But the town itself was much behind the times--being one of those
old-fashioned New England settlements left uncontaminated by the mill
interests and not yet awakened by the summer visitor, so rife now in
most of the quiet villages of the six Pilgrim States.

The rambling wooden structure with its long, unroofed platform, which
served Bridleburg as a station, showed plainly what the railroad company
thought of the town. Many villages of less population along the line
boasted modern station buildings, grass plots, and hedges. All that
surrounded Bridleburg's barrack-like depot was a plaza of bare, rolled
cinders.

On this were drawn up the two 'buses from the rival hotels--the "New
Brick Hotel," built just after the Civil War, and the Eagle House. Their
respective drivers called languidly for customers as the passengers
disembarked from the train.

Most of these were traveling men, or townspeople. It was only mid-forenoon
and Lyddy did not wish to spend either time or money at the local
hostelries, so she shook her head firmly at the 'bus drivers.

"We want to get settled by night at Hillcrest--if we can," she told
'Phemie. "Let's see if your baggage and freight are here, first of all."

She waited until the station agent was at leisure and learned that all
their goods--a small, one-horse load--had arrived.

"You two girls goin' up to the old Polly Phelps house?" ejaculated the
agent, who was a "native son" and knew all about the "old doctor," as Dr.
Apollo Phelps had been known throughout two counties and on both sides
of the mountain ridge.

"Why, it ain't fit for a stray cat to live in, I don't believe--that house
ain't," he added. "More'n twenty year since the old doctor died, and it's
bee