aimed Amy with surprising animation,
considering that she was in the middle of a tremendous yawn.

"Yes, of course. And girls, if the farmer's wife will make our bread, I
think it will be lots more sensible to buy it of her, than to bother
with baking."

"Oh, you fix things up just as you think best," exclaimed Priscilla.
"The rest of us will stand by whatever you agree to." A drowsy murmur of
corroboration went the rounds, and Peggy, making open mock of them all
for a company of "sleepy-heads," went blithely on her way toward the
particular column of smoke which she felt sure was issuing from the
chimney of the Cole farmhouse.

A very comfortable, pleasant farmhouse it was, though quite eclipsed by
the big red barn which loomed up in the background. Something in the
appearance of the front door suggested to Peggy that it was not intended
for daily use, and she made her way around to the side and knocked. A
child not far from Dorothy's age, with straight black hair, and elfish
eyes, opened the door, looked her over, and shrieked a staccato summons.

"Ro-set-ta! Ro-set-ta Muriel!"

"Well, what do you want?" demanded a rather querulous voice, and at the
end of the hall appeared the figure of a slender girl, her abundant
yellow hair brought down over her forehead to the eyebrows, and tied in
place by a blue ribbon looped up at one side in a flaunting bow. Her
frock of cheap blue silk was made in the extreme of the mode, and as she
rustled forward, Peggy found herself thinking that she was as unlike as
possible to her preconceived ideas of a farmer's daughter. As for
Rosetta Muriel, she looked Peggy over with the unspoken thought, "Well,
I'd like to know if she calls them city styles."

Peggy, in a two-year-old gingham, quite unaware that her appearance was
disappointing, cheerfully explained her errand and was invited to walk
in. Mrs. Cole, a stout, motherly woman, readily agreed to supply the
party at the cottage with the necessary provisions, including bread,
twice a week. And having dispatched the business which concerned the
crowd, Peggy broached a little private enterprise of her own.

"Mrs. Cole, I thought I'd like to try my luck at raising some chickens
this summer. Just in a very small way, of course," she added, reading
doubt in the eyes of the farmer's wife. "If you'll sell me an old hen
and a setting of eggs, that will be enough for the first season."

"'Tisn't an extry good time, you know," said Mrs. Co