Meanwhile in Lloydsboro Valley the summer had slipped slowly by.  Locust seemed strangely quiet with the great front gates locked, and never any sound of wheels or voices coming down the avenue.  Judge Moore’s place was closed also, and Tanglewood, just across the way, had been opened only a few weeks in the spring.  So birds and squirrels held undisputed possession of that part of the Valley, and the grass grew long and the vines climbed high, and often the soft whisper of the leaves was the only sound to be heard.

But in the shady beech grove, next the churchyard, and across the avenue from Mrs. MacIntyre’s, the noise of hammer and saw and trowel had gone on unceasingly, until at last the new home was ready for its occupants.  The family did not have far to move to “The Beeches”; only over the stile from the quaint green-roofed cottage next door, where they had spent the summer.

Allison, Kitty, and Elise climbed back and forth over the stile, their arms full of their particular treasures, which they could not trust to the moving-vans.  All the week that Betty and Lloyd were tossing out on the ocean, they were flitting about the new house, growing accustomed to its unfamiliar corners.  By the time the Majestic steamed into the New York harbour, they were as much at home in their new surroundings as if they had always lived there.  The tent was pitched on the lawn, the large family of dolls was brought out under the trees, and the games, good times, and camp-fire cooking went on as if they had never been interrupted for an instant by the topsy-turvy work of moving.

“Whose day is it for the pony-cart?” asked Mrs. Walton, coming out on the steps one morning.

“It was mine,” answered Kitty, speaking up from the hammock, where she swung, half in, half out, watching a colony of ants crawling along the ground underneath.  “But I traded my turn to Elise, for her biggest paper boy doll.”

“And I traded my turn to Allison, if she would let me use all the purple and yellow paint I want in her paint-box, while I am making my Princess Pansy’s ball dress,” said Elise.

Mrs. Walton smiled at the transfer of rights.  The little girls had an arrangement by which they took turns in using the cart certain days in the week, when Ranald did not want to ride his Filipino pony.

“Whoever has it to-day may do an errand for me,” Mrs. Walton said, adding, as she turned toward the house, “Do you know that Lloyd and Betty are coming on the three o’clock train this afternoon?”

“Then I don’t want the pony-cart,” exclaimed Allison, quickly.  “I’m going down to the depot to meet them.”

The depot was in sight of The Beeches, not more than three minutes’ walk distant.

“Can’t go back on your trade!” sang out Elise.  “Can’t go back on your trade!”

“Oh, you take it, Elise,” coaxed Allison.  “It’s my regular turn to-morrow.  I’ll make some fudge in the morning, if you will.”