Mary-’Gusta, even though she lives to be a very old woman, will never forget that ride to South Harniss.  It was the longest ride she had ever taken, and that of itself would have made it unforgettable.  Then, too, she was going visiting, and she had never been visiting before.  Also, she was leaving Mrs. Hobbs and, for a time at least, that lady could not remind her of her queerness and badness.  More than all, she was going on a journey, a real journey, like a grown-up or a person in a story, and her family—­David and the dolls—­were journeying with her.  What the journey might mean to her, or to what sort of place she was going—­these questions did not trouble her in the least.  Childlike, she was quite satisfied with the wonderful present, and to the future, even the dreaded orphans’ home, she gave not a thought.

Perched on the buggy seat, squeezed in between Captain Shad and Mr. Hamilton, she gazed wide-eyed at the houses and fields and woods along the roadside.  She did not speak, unless spoken to, and the two men spoke but seldom, each apparently thinking hard.  Occasionally the Captain would sigh, or whistle, or groan, as if his thoughts were disturbing and most unusual.  Once he asked her if she was comfortable.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Havin’ a good time?  Like to go to ride, do you?”

Mary-’Gusta assumed her most grown-up air.

“Yes, sir,” she said.  “I just love to travel.  It’s been the dream of my life.”

“Gosh!  I want to know!” exclaimed the astonished Shadrach; then he shook his head, chuckled, and ordered the horse to hurry up.

The dolls were arranged in a row against the back of the dashboard.  In front of them, and between the Captain’s feet and Zoeth’s, the battered satchel containing the child’s everyday dress and visiting essentials was squeezed.  Mary-’Gusta’s feet stuck straight out and rested on the top of the satchel.  David, in a basket with the lid tied fast, was planted between the last mentioned feet.  David did not appear to share his—­or her—­owner’s love of travel.  The cat wailed lugubriously at intervals.

Zoeth made the next attempt at conversation.

“Never been to South Harniss, have you, Mary-’Gusta?” he inquired.

“No, sir,” gravely.  “But,” remembering the housekeeper’s final charge not to forget her manners, if she had any, “I’m sure I’ll like it very much.”

“Oh, you are, eh?  Well, that’s nice.  What makes you so sure?”

Mary-’Gusta reflected.  She remembered what Mrs. Bailey had said after a week’s visit in Bayport, which is fourteen miles from Ostable.  “I think everybody enjoys a change of air,” she observed.

“My soul and body!” exclaimed Mr. Hamilton.

Captain Shad looked down at his small passenger.

“How old are you, sis?” he demanded.

“I’m seven.  But I ain’t a sis; I haven’t got any brothers or sisters.”

“Oh!  Well, that’s a fact, too, now I come to think of it.  How old did you say; seventy, was it?”