When she went to bid good-by to her family, she decided that Sara was not the doll she would take along with her, after all.  For Anna had a bonnet, whereas Sara had none.  Anna also wore a new dress, made for her by Mrs. Wicket out of an old petticoat.  Sara was better company, but Anna would be more respected along the road.

“I guess I’ll take you, Anna,” said Juliet.  “No use your pulling a face, Sara,” she added; “it won’t get you anything.  You can’t go.  So you may as well know it.  Maybe if you’re good, I’ll bring you something back.”

And off she went down the road to Milford, Anna under one arm and the umbrella under the other.

For a while, as she walked, she told herself stories.  She believed that she was the princess of one of Mr. Jeminy’s fairy tales; then Anna became a duchess, or an old queen.  The fact that nothing unusual happened to her, did not seem to her of any importance; she saw the russet fields, the bare woods, the solemn clouds, and far off shine and shadow; and walked with serious pomp for her own delight, as long as she was able.

But after a while she grew tired, and sat down by the roadside to rest.  As she sat there, the sun sank lower, and the gathering chill of evening made itself felt in the air.  Then for the first time doubt as to the wisdom of her course presented itself to her.

“We’re going to catch it when we get home,” she told Anna.

With a feeling of dismay, she remembered how far away from home she was.  The hush of evening, the silence of the fields, filled her head with vague fears.  She held her doll tightly to her breast for comfort.  The little red squirrel, flirting along the low stone wall, seemed to peer at her as though to say; “This is where I live.  But where do you live?  You can’t live here; I won’t have it.”  Juliet began to shiver with cold.

“Oh, goodness,” she whispered to Anna, “I’m going to catch it when I get home.”

But to start for home again in the gloom, took more courage than she had left her.  Grasping her umbrella, her five pennies, and her doll, she retreated to the middle of the road.  “Mr. Jeminy,” she cried, “Mr. Jeminy, where are you?”

The silence, more ghostly than before, was not to be endured.  “Mr. Jeminy,” she called at the top of her voice, “Mr. Jeminy, Mr. Jeminy, Mr. Jeminy.

“Oh, please come back.”

She was saved the ignominy of tears.  For at that moment she heard from down the road a sound of wheels, and the beat of hoofs.  And presently a farm wagon, drawn by an old white horse, approached her in the twilight.

“Well, bite me,” said the farmer, peering at her over the front of the wagon.  “Are you lost, child?”

“No, sir,” said Juliet.  Now that she was found, she was in the best of spirits, all sprightliness and wheedle.  “I’m not lost.  I’m looking for somebody.”

“Do tell,” said the farmer.  “A friend of yourn?”