could accommodate, and still
give the performers room to make their entrances and exits without
colliding with the armchair or overturning the small table. The question
of extra benches had also come up for consideration, and the girls had
demonstrated to their complete satisfaction that two people of ordinary
size could be seated comfortably at each desk. Absorbed in these
fascinating calculations, they had failed to notice how rapidly the time
was passing, till Dorothy began to complain of being hungry.

"You're as good as an alarm-clock," declared Priscilla, consulting her
watch. "It's half-past eleven, Peggy."

"Is it? Then we mustn't wait another minute. If Aunt Abigail is back
from her walk, she may be hungry too." Aunt Abigail had been invited to
attend the preliminary inspection of the schoolroom, but had declined,
frankly avowing her preference for a walk. Jerry had told her of a
somewhat rare fern growing half a mile from the cottage, and Aunt
Abigail who intermittently was an enthusiastic amateur botanist had
professed a desire to see this particular species in its native haunts.

"Don't hurry, Peg," pleaded Amy, as the procession headed for the
cottage at a more rapid pace than Amy approved on a summer morning.
"It's more than likely that she isn't home yet. You know she never
thinks anything about the time if she's interested."

As Amy's conjecture was based on an intimate knowledge of Aunt Abigail's
peculiarities, no one was surprised to find it correct. The front door
of the cottage was locked, and the key was hanging on a nail in full
view, a custom of the trusting community which had gradually come into
favor at Dolittle Cottage. The girls trooped indoors, and preparations
for dinner began forthwith, even Dorothy lending her aid. Dorothy loved
to shell peas, that ordinarily prosaic task being enlivened by the
certainty that she would drop at least two-thirds of the agile
vegetables, and be compelled to pursue them into the most unlikely
hiding-places.

The peas were shelled at last, and Dorothy comforted for the untimely
fate of several luckless spheres which had rolled under the feet of
preoccupied workers, and, according to Dorothy, had been "scrunched."
Another twenty minutes and Peggy announced that dinner was ready. "If
Aunt Abigail would only come. Things won't be so good if they wait."

"I won't be so good if _I_ wait, either," Dorothy declared. "'Cause
it makes me cross to get hungry."