“It sounds right enough, dear,” Mrs. Robbins said, her brown eyes full of amusement, “but we can’t very well disguise you as a boy, and Uncle Cassius is not the kind of person to trifle with.”

Kit thought this over seriously.

“Don’t tell them until I’ve started,” she suggested, “and be sure and mail the letter so it will get there after I do, and send me quick, so they won’t have any chance to change their minds.  Jean will be home until the middle of October, and you really and truly don’t need me here at all.  I’m sure there must have been a missionary concealed away in our family like a hidden spring, for I feel the zeal of conversion upon me.  I long to descend on Delphi.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say, Kit.  I’ll have to talk it over with your father first.  I wonder why Uncle Cassius thought we had a boy in the family, and why he wanted him specially.”

“Maybe he thought a boy would be more interested in antiques.  Are they Chinese porcelains and jewels, or just mummy things?”

“Mostly ruins, as I remember,” laughed her mother.  “When he was young, Uncle Cassius used to be sent away by the Geographical Society to explore buried cities in Chaldea and Egypt.”

“Bless his heart, I wish I could coax him to start in again, right now, and take me with him,” Kit exclaimed, blithely.  “Anyhow, I’m going to hope that it will come right and I can go.  I shall collect my Lares and Penates and start packing.  Can I borrow your steamer trunk, Jean?  Just write a charming letter, mother dear, sort of in the abstract, you know, thanking him, and calling us ‘the children’ in the aggregate, so he can’t detect just what we are, then when I depart, you can wire them, ’Kit arrives such and such a time.’  They’ll probably expect a Christopher, and once I land there, and they realize the treasure you have sent them, they will forgive me anything.”

Uncle Cassius’ letter was read over again carefully by Mr. Robbins.  Kit carried it out to the grape arbor, where he and Hiram were untangling and training some vagrant vines to travel in the way they should go, up over the trellis work.  There was a round table here made of birchwood that just fitted nicely into the octagonal arbor, encircled by birch seats.  Leading away from the arbor proper were two long pergolas, likewise built by Hiram, of birchwood.  The arbor had always been a favorite spot with the girls, when Aunt Roxy had lived in the rambling old white homestead.  Now that it was their abiding place pro tem., they spent nearly all their leisure time out there.  There was always a breeze from the south that made the arbor a port of call, and each one of its vine-framed openings was a lookout over wide spaces of beauty.  Cousin Roxy had once said that she had made a point of using the arbor as a spot to “rest and invite her soul,” for years.  It had been to her like David’s tower, with all its windows open towards Jerusalem.