“I don’t mind them anyhow, Uncle Peter,” she replied.

Bub Grigger helped get in the trunks and boxes.  He also filled the woodbox in the big living room and carried water from the brook for Aunt Hannah, but otherwise he was of little use to them.  His favorite occupation was whittling and he would sit for hours on one of the broad benches overlooking the valley, aimlessly cutting chips from a stick without forming it into any object whatsoever.

“I suppose all this time he is deeply thinking,” said Mary Louise as the girls sat on the porch watching him, the day after their arrival, “but it would be interesting to know what direction Bub’s thoughts take.”

“He must be figuring up his earnings and deciding how long it will take to buy that winter sweater,” laughed Irene.  “I’ve had a bit of conversation with the boy already and his ideas struck me as rather crude and undeveloped.”

“One idea, however, is firmly fixed in his mind,” declared Mary Louise.  “He ‘hates gals.’”

“We must try to dispel that notion.  Perhaps he has a big sister at home who pounds him, and therefore he believes all girls are alike.”

“Then let us go to him and make friends,” suggested Mary Louise.  “If we are gentle with the boy we may win him over.”

Mr. Conant had already made a runway for the chair, so they left the porch and approached Bub, who saw them coming and slipped into the scrub, where he speedily disappeared from view.  At other times, also, he shyly avoided the girls, until they began to fear it would be more difficult to “make friends” than they had supposed.

Monday morning Mr. Conant went down the mountain road, valise in hand, and met Bill Coombs the stage-driver at the foot of the descent, having made this arrangement to save time and expense.  Peter had passed most of his two days’ vacation in fishing and had been so successful that he promised Aunt Hannah he would surely return the following Friday.  He had instructed Bub to “take good care of the womenfolks” during his absence, but no thought of danger occurred to any of them.  The Morrisons had occupied the Lodge for years and had never been molested in any way.  It was a somewhat isolated place but the country people in the neighborhood were thoroughly honest and trustworthy.

“There isn’t much for us to do here,” said Mary Louise when the three were left alone, “except to read, to eat and to sleep—­lazy occupations all.  I climbed the mountain a little way yesterday, but the view from the Lodge is the best of all and if you leave the road you tear your dress to shreds in the scrub.”

“Well, to read, to eat and to sleep is the very best way to enjoy a vacation,” asserted Aunt Hannah.  “Let us all take it easy and have a good time.”