Lydia squirmed.

“Well, Margery’s taught now,” she said hastily, “so I don’t have to be punished any more, do I?”

Marshall scowled slightly.  “What do you mean?  Don’t you want Margery to play with you?”

“Oh, sure, she can play, if she wants to, but I mean I don’t have to go get her and bring her into our games.”

“No,” said Dave slowly, “but I think it would be nice of you to sort of keep an eye on her and get her dirty once in a while.  There!  Run home, child, you’re shivering.”

With puzzled eyes, Lydia obeyed.

The most important result, as far as Lydia was interested, of the talk between her father and Levine that night was that Amos decided definitely to move the following week.  Lydia cried a little over it, reproached God in her prayers and then with a child’s resignation to the inevitability of grown up decision, she began to say good-by to the neighborhood children and to help old Lizzie to pack.

Lydia did not see the new home until she rode out with the first dray-load of furniture.  She sat in the high seat beside the driver, baby Patience in her lap, her thin, long little legs dangling, her cheeks scarlet with excitement and the warmth of a hot September morning.  The cottage was a mile from the old home.  They drove along the maple shaded street for the first half of the distance, then turned into a dirt road that led toward the lake shore.  The dirt road emerged on the shore a half mile above the Willows and wound along a high embankment, crowned with oaks.

“Whoa!” shouted the driver.

“Oh, isn’t it pretty!” exclaimed Lydia.

An old-fashioned white cottage, with green blinds and a tiny front porch, stood beside the road, its back to the lake.  There were five acres or so of ground around the house, set off by a white picket fence.  At the gate a pine tree stood.  There were oaks and lilac bushes in the front yard.  Through the leaves, Lydia saw the blue of the lake.

“Our yard runs right down to the water!” she cried, as the driver lifted the baby down and she followed after.  “Gee!  I’m glad we moved!”

“It is a nice little spot,” said the driver, “but kinda lonely.”  He set the perambulator inside the fence, then balanced the dining-room table on his head and started up the path to the door.

Lydia looked along the road, where an occasional house was to be seen.

“I hope kids live in those houses,” she said, “but if they don’t, baby and the lake are company enough for me, and Kent can come out on his wheel.”

She strapped Patience into the perambulator, then ran up to the house.  The front door gave directly into a living-room of good proportions.  Out of this folding doors led into a small dining-room and beyond this a kitchen of generous size with a wonderful view of the glimmering lake from its rear windows.  A comfortable-sized bedroom opened off each of these rooms.  Lydia ran through the little house eagerly.  It was full of windows and being all on one floor, gave a fine effect of spaciousness.  It was an old house but in excellent repair as was all John Levine’s property.