se platform,
necessitated considerable planning, to say nothing of hard work.
Arrangements were made for extra benches to put back of the battered
desks, for the _Weekly Arena_ had exhibited a noble determination
to earn the two complimentary tickets, and Peggy felt sure of a full
house. Farmer Cole had agreed to lend Joe for the important day, and it
looked as if the hired man would not find his post a sinecure.

"If ever a place was misnamed," Aunt Abigail remarked one day, "this is
the spot. Dolittle Cottage. Do-_little_ Cottage," she repeated,
with an emphasis calculated to make her meaning apparent to the most
obtuse. "In the course of a few weeks we have become a preparatory
school and an orphan asylum." She looked significantly at Peggy who sat
on the steps, feeding the speckled chicken from a spoon. "And our last
development is a theatrical agency. Well, I can't say that it is exactly
my idea of a quiet, restful summer."

The hour of preparation was at its height, and the great occasion less
than a week away, when Peggy received news which sent her already
buoyant spirits climbing like a rocket. The rural delivery had brought
her several letters, and as Priscilla noticed, she pounced first on a
missive in a business-like envelope, with a typewritten address. She had
hardly read two lines before she interrupted herself with a joyous
squeal.

"Girls, isn't it glorious! Elaine is coming Saturday."

"Elaine! Why, I thought she said she couldn't." Priscilla's answer was a
little less spontaneous than usual.

"Her mother and Grace have been invited somewhere, and they insisted on
her coming here. She's worked so hard, and they feel she needs a
change." Peggy was reading down the page, her bright face aglow with
anticipation, but Priscilla's look indicated no corresponding pleasure,
and she answered with a non-committal murmur, when Peggy added, "She'll
be here for the play. I'm so glad."

And Priscilla struggling to express a degree of satisfaction in the
prospect, did not guess how soon she would echo Peggy's words from the
bottom of her heart.

CHAPTER XIV

AUNT ABIGAIL IS MISLAID

The little country schoolhouse had been the scene of varied activity
that morning. Even in term time, when the battered desks were occupied,
it is a question whether a forenoon's program would have been more
strenuous. Equipped with tape-measures the girls had calculated to a
nicety just how much furniture the platform