hree days elapsed before Katy and Jane could settle down to the quiet,
daily life of the ranch. If Gertie had found them disappointingly mute
that first evening, she never had to complain again. They went over and
over the thrilling events of the night and the picnic the next
afternoon, till Gertie got sick of hearing what "Mamie said" and how
_he_ looked and how wonderful the serenade had been. Indeed, these
events seemed to grow in importance the farther off they were. Gertie
was seldom pettish, but Katy's seventeenth repetition of what Grant
Stowe's cousin said to her while they were fishing left her cold.

"Shut up, Katy, I'm sick of hearing about it. I don't care what he said
and I just know he thought you were a silly little girl trying to seem
grown up when you aren't! You know Mother wouldn't like you to act so,
and I guess Mrs. Morton'd be ashamed of you, too, if she knew."

"Gertie Halford, if you dare tell!"

"Thank you, I'm no tattle tale! I intend to forget all about it as soon
as ever I can. But I know Sherm thought you were silly from something he
said."

Chicken Little related the most presentable of their doings to Marian.
Marian didn't say much at the time, but some days afterwards she told
them tales of the adventures of her own early teens. She ended a little
meaningly: "Do you know, I believe girls can be sillier from thirteen to
sixteen than at any other age? They're exactly like that little buff
cochin rooster you laugh at, because he tries to crow and strut before
he knows how. I hope you girls won't be in a hurry to grow up. There are
so many nice things you can do now that you will have to give up after a
while."

July was growing unpleasantly hot. The mornings were dewy and fresh, but
by noon they were glad to hunt a shady place. The apple orchard was a
favorite haunt, and the Weeping Willows when the wind was from the right
direction. They took books and crochetting, sometimes the checker board
or dominoes, and spent the long summer afternoons there, with Jilly
tumbling over their feet and Huz and Buz dozing alongside or lazily
snapping at the plaguing flies.

They had been picking blackberries mornings for Mrs. Morton's
preserving. The rescued litter of pigs was also taking much time. The
mother pig had developed an appetite that was truly appalling. It seemed
to take endless gallon pails of sour milk and baskets of fruit parings
to satisfy her. Dr. Morton would not let them feed corn