At the head stood Colonel Gresham’s seven-passenger car, in charge of John, the Colonel’s chauffeur. Next came No. 45678; then Russell Ely, who had placed himself and his car at Polly’s disposal; while Colonel Gresham’s small truck, piled with all manner of luggage, tagged the three. The children were chattering and snickering as only little people can. There were last words to say, last bundles to dispose of, and all was hilarity and happiness. “Now, father,” said Polly, “remember that you have promised to come up in August for a few days at the least, and you must plan to make it a week if you possibly can. You owe it to yourself and to your patients. I do wish you and mother could come together.” She looked appealingly into Mrs. Dudley’s eyes. Her mother smilingly shook her head. “I’ll try to come,” she said, “and I’ll do my very best to make your father keep his promise; but I’m afraid we can’t come at the same time.” “When are we goin’?” piped up Timmy, flinging the query in Polly’s direction. “As soon as I can make this box stay where it belongs,” she laughed. “There! I believe that’s positively the last.” Her eyes scanned the running-board, the walk, even the roadway. Was everything in? She paused, thinking. “Don’t try to find a single package more,” laughed Lilith. “If we don’t start pretty soon--” “Oh! I forgot--” She dashed towards the house. “What? What?” cried those nearest. “Ain’t we goin’?” queried a worried little voice. Russell was already leaping after Polly, while Lilith reassured the anxious tot. In a moment the two runaways reappeared in the doorway, Russell carrying Polly’s forgotten lunch basket. This made the grown folks laugh. Then everybody said good-bye. There was a waving of hands, the cars burr-r-ed and sizzed and smoked; there were more good-byes and hand-wavings--and they were on the long way to Overlook. Reaching Prattsboro Polly Dudley’s car whirled ahead of the procession and speeded around to the little gray house. Dolly Merrifield was at the window, ready from hat to shoe, and even more radiant than usual. “I never was so taken back in my life,” declared Aunt Sophie, looking up from the suitcase she was strapping. “I got a letter from Sardis just now, telling why he didn’t answer mine. He hadn’t got it! And to think your father should take the trouble to write! Well, if he hadn’t, Dolly could not have gone--that’s all. I’m mighty glad he did, and we all are. Why, Sardis says he went to the post-office and there wasn’t any letter from me. You see, it got mixed up with somebody else’s mail, and he hadn’t got it even then; but he’d heard about it, though. Such doings!