Peggy Raymond's Vacation or Friendly Terrace Transplanted

Excerpt

CHAPTER I
THE EXODUS

“Do you know, Peggy Raymond, that you haven’t made a remark for three-quarters of an hour, unless somebody asked you a question?–and, even then, your answers didn’t fit.”

It was mid-June, and as happens not unfrequently in the month acknowledging allegiance to both seasons, spring had plunged headlong into summer, with no preparatory gradations from breezy coolness to sultry days and oppressive nights. Friendly Terrace wore an air of relaxation. School was over till September, and now that the bugbear of final examinations was disposed of, no one seemed possessed of sufficient energy to attempt anything more strenuous than wielding a palm-leaf fan.

On Amy Lassell’s front porch a quartet of wilted girls lounged about in attitudes expressive of indolent ease. Tall Priscilla occupied the hammock, and Ruth was ensconced in a willow rocking-chair, with a hassock at her feet. Peggy had made herself comfortable on the top step, with sofa cushions tucked skilfully at the small of her back, and behind her head. Amy herself sat cross-legged like a Turk on the porch floor and fanned vigorously to supplement the efforts of the lazy breeze.

Peggy, pondering her friend’s accusation with languid interest, dimpled into a smile which acknowledged its correctness. “Yes, you’re right, Amy,” she admitted. “And, if you want to know the reason, it’s only that my thoughts were wandering. The fact is, girls, I’m just hankering for the country.”

“Then what’s the matter–”

The suggestion on the tip of Amy’s tongue never got any farther, for Peggy, seemingly certain that it would prove inadequate, shook her head with a vigor hardly to be expected from her general air of lassitude.

“No, Amy! I don’t mean going to the park, or taking a trolley ride out to one of the suburbs. What I want is the sure-enough country, without any sidewalks, you know, and with roads that wind, and old hens clucking around, and cow-bells tinkling off in the pastures, and oceans of room–”

“And sunsets where the sun goes down behind green trees, instead of peoples’ houses,” Ruth interrupted dreamily. “And birds singing like mad to wake you up in the morning.”

“Yes, and berries growing alongside the road, where you can help yourself,” broke in Amy with animation. “And apples and nuts lying around under the trees, and green corn that melts in your mouth, and–”

“Not all at the same time, though.” The correction came from Priscilla’s hammock. “You wouldn’t find many nuts dropping from the trees at this time of the year.”

Before Amy could reply, the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the most universally popular visitor ever gracing Friendly Terrace by his presence. He came often, without any danger of wearing out his welcome. Every household watched for his arrival, and felt injured if he passed without stopping. On Amy’s porch four necks craned, the better to view his advance, and four pairs of eyes were expectant.

“If there’s anything for me,” observed Peggy hopefully, “mother’ll wave, I know.” But Mrs. Raymond, who sat sewing on her own porch, opened the solitary letter the postman handed her, and proceeded to acquaint herself with its contents in full view of the watchers on the other side of the street.

“This must be Mother’s Day,” Amy exclaimed disapprovingly, when, a moment later, she accepted from the letter-carrier’s hand a fat blue envelope directed to Mrs. Gibson Lassell. But, in spite of her rather resentful tone, she scrambled to her feet, and carried the letter through to the shaded back room where her mother lay on the couch, with a glass of ice-tea beside her, devoting herself to the business of keeping cool....