Wheels it was. Two wagons were driving up the lane. We rushed to the house--and there were Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia! The excitement was quite tremendous. Every body talked and laughed at once, and it was not until we were all seated around the supper table that conversation grew coherent. What laughter and questioning and telling of tales followed, what smiles and bright eyes and glad voices. And through it all, the blissful purrs of Paddy, who sat on the window sill behind the Story Girl, resounded through the din like Andrew McPherson’s bass--“just a bur-r-r-r the hale time.” “Well, I’m thankful to be home again,” said Aunt Janet, beaming on us. “We had a real nice time, and Edward’s folks were as kind as could be. But give me home for a steady thing. How has everything gone? How did the children behave, Roger?” “Like models,” said Uncle Roger. “They were as good as gold most of the days.” There were times when one couldn’t help liking Uncle Roger. CHAPTER XIX. A DREAD PROPHECY “I’ve got to go and begin stumping out the elderberry pasture this afternoon,” said Peter dolefully. “I tell you it’s a tough job. Mr. Roger might wait for cool weather before he sets people to stumping out elderberries, and that’s a fact.” “Why don’t you tell him so?” asked Dan. “It ain’t my business to tell him things,” retorted Peter. “I’m hired to do what I’m told, and I do it. But I can have my own opinion all the same. It’s going to be a broiling hot day.” We were all in the orchard, except Felix, who had gone to the post-office. It was the forenoon of an August Saturday. Cecily and Sara Ray, who had come up to spend the day with us--her mother having gone to town--were eating timothy roots. Bertha Lawrence, a Charlottetown girl, who had visited Kitty Marr in June, and had gone to school one day with her, had eaten timothy roots, affecting to consider them great delicacies. The fad was at once taken up by the Carlisle schoolgirls. Timothy roots quite ousted “sours” and young raspberry sprouts, both of which had the real merit of being quite toothsome, while timothy roots were tough and tasteless. But timothy roots were fashionable, therefore timothy roots must be eaten. Pecks of them must have been devoured in Carlisle that summer. Pat was there also, padding about from one to the other on his black paws, giving us friendly pokes and rubs. We all made much of him except Felicity, who would not take any notice of him because he was the Story Girl’s cat. We boys were sprawling on the grass. Our morning chores were done and the day was before us. We should have been feeling very comfortable and happy, but, as a matter of fact, we were not particularly so.