“Who was it?”

“My next-door neighbour, Miss Daggett.”

“What!  Not Locky Ann Daggett!” exclaimed Elsie, laughing merrily.

“It was Miss Rachel Daggett.  I don’t know why you call her by that queer name,” said Patty.

“Oh, I’ve known her ever since I was a baby, and mother always calls her Locky Ann Daggett, and grandmother did before her.  You know Locky is a nickname for Rachel.”

“I didn’t know it,” said Patty.  “What an absurd nickname.”

“Yes, isn’t it?  How did you like her?”

“It isn’t a question of liking,” answered Patty.  “She doesn’t want me to like her.  All she seemed to care about was to have me promise not to interfere with her.”

“Oh, she’s afraid of you,” said Guy.  “You don’t seem so very terrifying, now, but I suppose when you’re engaged in the housekeeping of your house you’re an imposing and awe-inspiring sight.”

“I dare say I am,” said Patty; “but my neighbour, Miss Daggett, I’m sure, would be imposing at any hour of the day or night.”

“She’s a queer character,” said Elsie.  “Have you never seen her before?”

“No; I never even heard of her until she sent up her card.”

“Why, how funny,” said Marian; “I’ve always heard of Locky Ann Daggett, but I never knew anything about her, except that she’s very old and very queer.”

“She’s a sort of humourous character,” said Guy Morris; “strong-minded, you know, and eccentric, but not half bad.  I quite like the old lady, though I almost never see her.”

“No; she doesn’t seem to care to see people,” said Patty.  “She seems to have no taste for society.  Why, I don’t suppose she’d care to take part in our play, even if we invited her.”

“Oh, what about the play?” said Elsie.  “Have you really decided to have a play, instead of that stupid old fair?”

“We haven’t decided anything,” said Patty, “we can’t until the club meets to-morrow.”

“Oh, do have a play,” said Frank, “and then us fellows can take part.  We couldn’t do anything at a bazaar, except stand around and buy things.”

“And we’re chuck-full of histrionic talent,” put in Guy.  “You ought to see me do Hamlet.”

“Yes,” said Frank, “Guy’s Hamlet is quite the funniest thing on the face of the earth.  I do love comedy.”

“So do I,” said Guy, “I just love to play a side-splitting part like Hamlet.”

“Then you may have a chance,” said Marian, “for one of the plays we’re thinking about—­and it isn’t exactly a play either—­brings in a whole lot of tragic characters in a humourous way.  It’s a general mix-up, you know:  Hamlet, and Sairy Gamp, and Rip Van Winkle, and Old Mother Hubbard, and everybody.”

“Yes, that’s a good one,” said Marian; “it’s called ’Shakespeare at the Seashore.’”

“The name is enough to condemn that piece,” said Mr. Fairfield; “not one of you can say it straight.”