We came because we wanted to sketch the old wishing well and your lovely home.”

Mrs. Marborough came down the steps toward the girls.

“I quite understand,” she said in a far milder tone than she had used in speaking to the stonecutter. “You may look around as much as you wish. But first, tell me your names.”

One by one they gave them, answering other questions which the old lady asked. She kept them so busy that they had no opportunity to interpose any of their own. But at length Penny managed to inquire:

“Mrs. Marborough, are you planning to open up your home again? Everyone would be so happy if only you should decide to live here!”

“Happy?” the old lady repeated, her eyes twinkling. “Well, maybe some people would be, and others wouldn’t.”

“Rose Acres could be made into one of the nicest places in Riverview,” declared Louise.

“That would take considerable money,” replied Mrs. Marborough. “I’ve not made any plans yet.” Abruptly she turned to face Truman Crocker who was staring at her. “Must you stand there gawking?” she asked with asperity. “Get along to your own land, and mind, don’t come here again. I’ll not have trespassers.”

“You ain’t changed a bit, Mrs. Marborough, not a particle,” the stonecutter muttered as he slowly moved off.

Truman Crocker’s dismissal had been so curt that Penny and her friends likewise started to leave the grounds.

“You needn’t go unless you want to,” Mrs. Marborough said, her tone softening again. “I never could endure that no-good loafer, Truman Crocker! All the stepping stones are gone from my garden, and I have an idea what became of them!”

The group of girls hesitated, scarcely knowing what to do or say. As the silence became noticeable, Penny tried to make conversation by remarking that she and her friends had been especially interested in the old wishing well.

“Is it true that wishes made there have come true?” Rhoda Wiegand interposed eagerly.

“Yes and no,” the old lady smiled. “Hundreds of wishes have been made at the well over the years. A surprising number of the worthwhile ones have been granted, so folks say. Tell me, did you say your name is Rhoda?”

“Why, yes,” the girl responded, surprised that the old lady had remembered. “Rhoda Wiegand.”

“Wiegand—odd, I don’t recall the name. Have your parents lived many years in Riverview?”

“My mother and father are dead, Mrs. Marborough. My brother and I haven’t any living relatives. Mr. and Mrs. Breen took us in so we wouldn’t have to go to an orphans’ home. They have three children of their own, and I’m afraid we’re quite a burden.”

“Where do the Breens live, my child?”

“We have a trailer at the Dorset Tourist Camp.”

“I’ve always thought I should enjoy living that way,” Mrs. Marborough declared. “Big houses are entirely too much work. If I decide to clean up this place, it will take me weeks.”

“Can’t we all help you?” suggested Louise impulsively. More than anything else she longed to see the interior of the quaint old house.

“Thank you, my dear, but I shall require no assistance,” Mrs. Marborough replied somewhat stiffly. Obviously dismissing the girls, she added: “Do come again whenever you like.”

During the bus ride to Riverview, the members of the Palette exchanged comments, speculating upon why the old lady had returned to the city after such a lengthy absence. One by one they alighted at various street corners until only Rhoda, Penny, and Louise remained.

“Rhoda, you’ll have a long ride to the opposite side of the city,” Penny remarked as she and Louise prepared to leave the bus. “Why not get off here and let me drive you home in my car? It won’t take long to get it from the garage.”

“Oh, that would be too much trouble,” Rhoda protested.

“I want to do it,” Penny insisted. Taking the girl by the elbow, she steered her to the bus exit. To Louise she added: “Why not come along with us?”

“Perhaps I will, if you’ll drive your good car—not Leaping Lena.”

Penny was the proud possessor of two automobiles, one a handsome maroon sedan, the other a dilapidated, ancient “flivver” which had an unpleasant habit of running only when fancy dictated. How she had obtained two cars was a story in itself—in fact, several of them. The maroon model, however, had been the gift of Penny’s devoted father, Anthony Parker, publisher of Riverview’s leading daily newspaper, The Star. He had presented the car to her in gratitude because she had achieved an exclusive story for his paper, gaining astounding evidence by probing behind a certain mysterious Green Door.

Delighted with the gift, Penny promptly sold Leaping Lena only to become so lonesome for her old friend that she had bought it back from a second-hand dealer. In towing the car home she was involved in an accident, and there followed a chain of amazing events which ultimately brought the solution of a mystery case known as Clue of the Silken Ladder. Leaping Lena and trouble always went together, according to Louise, but Penny felt that every one of her adventures had been worth while.

“I don’t mind taking the maroon car,” she replied to her chum. “In fact, Lena hasn’t been running so well lately. I think she has pneumonia of the carburetor.”

“Or maybe it’s just old age sneaking up on her!” Louise added with a teasing laugh.

Reaching the Parker home, Penny ran inside to tell Mrs. Weems, the housekeeper, that she was taking Rhoda to the trailer camp. Returning a moment later, she backed the maroon car from the garage with dazzling skill and further exhibited her prowess as a driver.

“Penny always handles an automobile as if she were enroute to a three-alarm fire!” Louise assured Rhoda. “A reporter at the Star taught her how to drive.”

Presently, the car arrived at the Dorset Tourist Camp, rolling through an archway entrance into a tree-shaded area.

“Our trailer is parked over at the north side,” Rhoda said, pointing to a vehicle with faded brown paint.

Penny stopped the car beneath a large maple tree. Immediately three small children who had been playing close by, rushed up to greet Rhoda. Their hands and faces were very dirty, frocks unpressed and torn, and their hair appeared never to have made contact with comb or brush.

“Are these the Breen youngsters?” inquired Louise.

“Yes,” Rhoda answered, offering no apology for the way the children looked. “This is Betty, who is seven. Bobby is five, and Jean is our baby.”

Penny and Louise had no intention of remaining at the camp, but before they could drive away, Mrs. Breen stepped from the trailer. She came at once to the car, and Rhoda introduced her.

“I’ve always told Rhoda to bring her friends out here, but she never would do it,” the woman declared heartily. “Come inside and see our trailer.”

“We really should be going,” Penny demurred. “I told our housekeeper I’d be right back.”

“It will only take a minute,” Mrs. Breen urged. “I want you to meet my husband—and there’s Ted.”

The woman had caught a glimpse of a tall young man as he moved hastily around the back side of the trailer.

“Oh, Ted!” she called shrilly. “Come here and meet Rhoda’s friends!”

“Don’t bother about it, Mrs. Breen,” Rhoda said in embarrassment. “Please.”

“Nonsense!” the woman replied, and called again. “Ted! Come here, I say!”

With