"We didn’t tell you, Peggy," Priscilla exclaimed, taking up the tale. "But we found out the sort of girl she was the day you came. We thought it was your hack, you know, and we rushed to grab you the minute you stepped out, and we were all screaming for you to hurry, and when this girl got out we felt cheap enough to go right through the sidewalk." "Yes, we did," interrupted Amy. "If there had been an open coal-hole handy it would have taken me about five seconds to disappear." "The way she took it showed the sort of girl she is," insisted Priscilla. "Instead of smiling, or saying that it didn’t matter, she acted as if we’d been so many hitching-posts standing in a row. Didn’t see us or hear us, either. I knew in a minute that I’d never have any use for her if she lived here a thousand years." "That’s just the way I feel," said Ruth. "Me, too," exclaimed Amy from the rug, and absent-mindedly she reached for another cinnamon roll. It was Peggy’s turn. "O, girls," she pleaded, in tones of distress. "Let’s not be in such a hurry to make up our minds. You see, we’ve hardly seen anything of her." "Quite enough," observed Priscilla. "And things were rather against her both times," continued Peggy, disregarding the interruption. "When we come to know her we may like her awfully well." A depressing silence implied that no one but Peggy herself thought such a result at all probable. "And, anyway," concluded Peggy, falling back on the supreme argument, "she hasn’t tried living in Friendly Terrace yet. We don’t know what that will do for her. Instead of letting her alone, I think we’d better show her what it means to have neighbors of the neighborly kind." It did not appear that a continuation of the discussion was likely to bring them into agreement. Amy tried changing the subject. "Do you know what this roll reminds me of?" she asked, looking thoughtfully at the fragments in her hand. No one could imagine. "The first time I ever tasted one of Peggy’s rolls," Amy explained, "it was on a picnic at the Park. It was the time that Ruth fell into the lake, feeding the swans." "I’d forgotten the rolls, but I remember that picnic," Ruth said. "The picnics this year didn’t seem like the real thing," she added disconsolately, "with Peggy gone." "’Tisn’t too late for another," Priscilla cried. "Why not go to-morrow?" If the quartet had failed to agree on the subject of Peggy’s next-door neighbor there was no lack of unanimity as far as the picnic was concerned. In five minutes it was arranged that Ruth was to bring the sandwiches and Amy the fudge, while Peggy had agreed to get up early and make some little sponge cakes. "You won’t mind if I bring Dorothy, will you, girls?" Peggy inquired anxiously. "You see, she really does make a lot of extra work, she’s such a mischief, and I don’t want to leave too much for mother to do."