“Let’s go up in those woods and see what’s there.”

“Has Aunt Louise bought them?”

“No, but she wants to.  They don’t belong to the same man who owned this piece of land.  They belong to the Clarks.  She’s going to see about it right off, because it looks so attractive and rocky and woodsy.”

“You’d have the brook, too.”

“I hope she’ll be able to get it.  Of course just this piece is awfully pretty, and this is the only place for a house, but the meadow with the brook and the rocks and the woods at the back would be too lovely for words.  Why, you’d feel as if you had an estate.”

The girls laughed at Dorothy’s enthusiasm over the small number of acres that were included even in the combined lots of land, but they agreed with her that the additional land offered a variety that was worth working hard to obtain.

They made their way up the slope and among the jumble of rocks that looked as if giants had been tossing them about in sport.  Small trees grew from between them as they lay heaped in disorder and taller growths stretched skyward from an occasional open space.  The brook began in a spring that bubbled clear and cold, from under a slab of rock.  Round about it all was covered with moss, still green, though frozen stiff by the snowstorm’s chilly blasts.  Shrivelled ferns bending over its mouth promised summer beauties.

“What a lovely spot!” cried Ethel Blue.  “This is where fairies and wood nymphs live when that drift melts.  Don’t you know this must be a great gathering place for birds?  Can’t you see them now dipping their beaks into the water and cocking their heads up at the sky afterwards!” and she quoted:—­

    “Dip, birds, dip
      Where the ferns lean over,
    And their crinkled edges drip,
      Haunt and hover.”

“Here’s the best place yet!” called Dorothy, who had pushed on and was now out of sight.

“Where are you?”

“Here.  See if you can find me,” came a muffled answer.

“Where do you suppose she went to?” asked Ethel Brown, as they all three straightened themselves, yet saw no sign of Dorothy.

“I hope she hasn’t fallen down a precipice and been killed!” said Ethel Blue, whose imagination sometimes ran away with her.

“More likely she has twisted her ankle,” practical Ethel Brown.

“She wouldn’t sound as gay as that if anything had happened to her,” Della reminded them.

The cries that kept reaching them were unquestionably cheerful but where they came from was a problem that they did not seem able to solve.  It was only when Dorothy poked out her head from behind a rock almost in front of them that they saw the entrance of what looked like a real cave.

“It’s the best imitation of a cave I ever did see!” the explorer exclaimed.  “These rocks have tumbled into just the right position to make the very best house!  Come in.”