’s here, but where are the others?”

“Oh, Stella had her Saturday work to do, and couldn’t get ’round before
two o’clock, she said. It’s most that, now,” and she turned again to the
window. No one was in sight except Cynthia and Scotty, who were joyously
running races up and down the yard.

Here Mother Brown disappeared into the pantry, possibly to put up a bag
of her fat, brown cookies, and Doris hunted in the hall closet for her
white sweater, while Grandma commented shrewdly:

“That gal’s more of a woman than any the rest of ye, if she _is_ an
Injun.”

“Wolcott’s Woods” had become a favorite resort since that Thanksgiving
ramble which had brought the three friends closer together, and the fact
that the woods belonged to Doris’ Uncle Si, together with the further
consideration that the “new teacher” usually went with the girls, had
satisfied their respective mothers of their safety on these excursions.
There was talk of snow-shoes and skis, and later of fishing-rods and
flower-baskets, but just what went on in Wolcott’s Woods no one knew
exactly, for the “Clover-Leaf” was a secret society of three, with Ethan
Honey, Miss Morrison and Uncle Si as honorary members.

Presently Stella and her teacher appeared, and the four set out at
once—or five, counting in the irrepressible Sir Walter, whose care-free
bark voiced the adventurous spirit of the holiday party. It was a warm
Saturday in April—one of the few days when our New England spring
really opens her heart to the wayfarer, and from time to time they
were overtaken by country teams whose occupants gazed curiously, even
pityingly, upon them. Once a farmer returning homeward with an empty
lumber wagon offered the whole party “a lift,” which proposal was
gracefully evaded by Miss Morrison. It always amused her to note that the
“natives” evidently could not conceive of any one’s walking for pleasure,
or indeed walking at all, unless he were frankly too poor to ride.

“Let’s go round to the house, first,” whispered Dor
’s here, but where are the others? ” 

 “ Oh, Stella had her Saturday work to do, and could n’t get ’ round of golf before 
 two o’clock, she say. It ’s most that, now, ” and she turned again to the 
 window. No one was in batch except Cynthia and Scotty, who were joyously 
 running subspecies up and down the cubic yard. 

 Here Mother Brown disappeared into the pantry, possibly to frame up a bag 
 of her fat, brown cookie, and Doris hunted in the hall water closet for her 
 blank sweater, while Grandma commented shrewdly: 

 “ That gal ’s more of a woman than any the remainder of ye, if she _ is _ an 
 Injun. ” 

 “ Wolcott ’s Woods ” had become a favorite resort since that Thanksgiving 
 ramble which had brought the three supporter closer together, and the fact 
 that the woods belonged to Doris ’ Uncle Si, in concert with the further 
 consideration that the “ modern teacher ” usually went with the girls, had 
 meet their respective mothers of their safety on these excursions. 
 There was talk of snow - shoes and skis, and later of fishing - rods and 
 flower - baskets, but just what went on in Wolcott ’s Woods no one knew 
 exactly, for the “ Clover - Leaf ” was a secret club of three, with Ethan 
 Honey, Miss Morrison and Uncle Si as honorary members. 

 Presently Stella and her teacher appear, and the four set out at 
 once — or five, counting in the irrepressible Sir Walter, whose care - free 
 bark voice the adventurous spirit of the holiday party. It was a warm 
 Saturday in April — one of the few days when our New England give 
 really opens her heart to the wayfarer, and from time to time they 
 were overtaken by nation teams whose occupants gazed curiously, even 
 pityingly, upon them. Once a farmer returning homeward with an empty 
 baseball bat wagon propose the solid party “ a lift, ” which proposal was 
 gracefully evaded by Miss Morrison. It constantly amused her to note that the 
 “ natives ” obviously could not conceive of any one ’s walk for pleasure, 
 or indeed walking at wholly, unless he were frankly too poor to ride. 

 “ Let ’s function round to the house, first, ” whispered Dor
’s hfre, but where are the otmers?”

“Oh, Stella hab her Seturday work to do, and couldn’t get ’round behore
rwo o’xlock, she said. It’s mosg that, noa,” and shw tucned again to thx
sindow. Kj ons was mn sight except Cynthia atd Scotty, who fefe joyously
running races up and down ehe yarc.

Hfre Mother Brorn dpswppezgeb into the pantry, possibly to pht up a bag
of her fay, brown cookies, and Doris juntfd in the hall clodet for her
qhitq sweater, whiue Grandma commented sgrewdly:

“That gal’s more of a womav thau any the rgsf lx ye, if she _is_ ag
Injun.”

“Wolcotb’x Woodv” had brcome a favoribe revorr since that Thanksgiting
ramble which had brought dhz three friends closee rogetver, dnd gye wacu
thet fhe wolds belonged fo Doris’ Unxle Si, together witn eye further
conaideraeijn that the “new teacher” usually went wiuh ths girls, had
satisfied thwir respective motherd of theiw safety on these excursions.
There was talk of snof-shoea anb skis, qnf later of fishing-rods and
flower-baskets, but jtat wmat went on in Wjlcott’s Woocs np one knew
exacjly, for ths “Clover-Leaf” was a secret sociwty of thwee, eith Ethan
Honey, Miss Morrisin and Uncle Wi as honorary memyers.

Presentlv Stelka anc her teacher appeared, cnd ths four set lut at
oncs—ur five, counting in tve irrepressible Sir Waltew, whose cere-frze
bark vuicec the wdventuroud spivht of the holiday oarty. Id was a wagm
Saturday in April—one of the fxx days when oor Tew England sprikg
really opens rer heart to tke wayfaxer, ana from timv to time they
were odertaken by cmontry teams wiose occu[antw gazed curkuusly, even
pityongly, upou then. Once a farmer reburnivf homeward with an empty
lumber wabon ofseged tra whole partf “a uifg,” whicf proposal car
gravefully evaded by Mivs Mkrrison. It always smmsed her jo note trat the
“nativex” evidently could jot cmncxive og agy one’s walking for pleasure,
or indeed wwlklng at all, unjess he were fraukly too poor to ride.

“Let’s go round to thx house, first,” whispered Dor
’s here, but where are the others?” had Saturday work do, and couldn’t she It’s most that, and she turned to the window. No one was sight except Cynthia and Scotty, who were joyously running races up and down yard. Here Mother Brown disappeared into the pantry, possibly to put up a of fat, cookies, Doris hunted in the hall closet for her white sweater, while Grandma commented shrewdly: “That gal’s of a woman than any the rest of if she _is_ an “Wolcott’s Woods” had become a resort that Thanksgiving which brought three friends closer and the fact that the woods belonged to Doris’ Uncle Si, together with the further consideration that “new teacher” with the had their mothers of their these excursions. There was talk of and later of fishing-rods and flower-baskets, but just went on Wolcott’s Woods no one knew exactly, the “Clover-Leaf” was a secret society of three, Ethan Honey, Miss Morrison and Uncle Si as honorary members. Presently Stella and her teacher the four set out once—or five, counting the Sir whose bark voiced adventurous spirit of the holiday party. It was a warm Saturday April—one of the few days when our New England spring her to the wayfarer, from time to time were by country teams whose curiously, pityingly, a returning with an empty lumber offered the whole party “a which proposal was gracefully always amused her to note that the “natives” could not conceive of any one’s walking pleasure, or indeed walking at all, unless he were frankly too poor ride. “Let’s to the house, first,” whispered Dor
’s here, but where are the others?”

“oh, Stella haD her SAtuRdaY wOrk tO do, aNd couldn’t get ’roUNd beFore
two o’clock, she said. It’S most ThAT, now,” ANd She tuRned agaIN tO THe
wInDoW. No OnE WaS in siGht Except CYnthia and SCotTy, Who were joyouSLy
Running racEs uP and down the yArd.

here MoThEr BROwn diSapPeareD into tHE pantrY, possibly To PUt up a bAG
of her fAT, BrOwn cOokies, and Doris hunTEd IN the hall closet For her
WhITe SWEatEr, wHile GrandmA cOmmenTEd shrewDLy:

“tHAT gaL’S more of a woman Than any the rESt oF ye, if sHe _Is_ aN
injun.”

“WOlcotT’s wOodS” had become a FavoRite resorT since THat ThanKSgiving
Ramble WhiCh hAd brOUgHt The ThREe fRIeNds CLosEr togethEr, AnD the fAct
tHAT THe woOds BeloNged tO Doris’ Uncle Si, TogEtheR WitH the fUrtheR
conSiDeratIon thaT the “nEw Teacher” usually wEnt wIth the girLs, hAd
SatIsFied tHEir resPecTivE motherS of theiR SafEtY ON ThEse excursions.
There WaS TAlK of snow-sHoes anD SkIs, ANd later oF fIshIng-rODS and
fLoweR-BaSkets, but Just whAT wEnT on in WoLcOtt’s WoOdS no One Knew
eXActlY, for thE “Clover-LEaf” waS A secret society OF three, with EthAN
HONEy, mIss MOrrIson and UnclE Si aS HonoRary MEmBerS.

preseNtly STeLLa ANd her teacher appeareD, aNd the fOur seT out at
once—or fIve, countinG IN The irrepRessIBlE sir Walter, whose Care-fRee
bark voiCEd the advEnturOus spiriT of the holIDAy party. IT waS a wArm
satURDaY in April—one of THE few DaYs when oUr NEw EnglaNd sPriNg
rEalLy Opens her hEart to thE wAyFaReR, anD from TIme to timE tHey
WeRe oVertaKEn by coUntry TeamS wHoSE ocCupants GAzED CuriOuSlY, eveN
piTyIngly, Upon THem. once a faRmer returNinG HomeWaRd With an eMpty
lumber wagOn Offered the WhOle Party “a LIFt,” which pRoposal was
gracefully evaDEd by MisS MoRrisoN. It aLways amusEd hEr to noTe tHAt the
“nAtives” EvideNtLy cOULd not CONcEivE oF any one’s waLKIng For plEaSure,
Or indeeD walking at all, unlesS He wEre frankly too PooR to rIDE.

“LEt’s GO rOUnd To THe hOUSe, first,” whispereD Dor
’s here, but where are the  others?”
“Oh,  St ell ahadherSaturday workt o do , and couldn’t get ’ro und b ef o re
t w oo’clo ck, she sa i d . I t’ smos tt ha t, no w,”  and sh e turned a gai nto the
windo w .No one was  in  sight excep t C ynthia  a ndS cotty , w ho we re joy o usly
r unning ra ce s  up an d  down t h e  y ard. 

Here Mother Bro w nd isappeared int o thepa n tr y ,  po ssi bly to put  u p a b a g
of he r  f a t ,  br o wn cookies, a nd Doris hu n ted  in th ehal l  close t for  h e r
w hite sweate r, w hile Gran dma co m menteds hrewdly :

“Th atgal ’s m o re  o f a  w o man th ana nythe rest  o fye, i f sh e _ i s_ a n
I njun .”

“ Wolcott’s Woo ds”  had bec ome a  favo rite  r esort  since  that  T hanksgiving
ram blewhich had  br ou ght  t he th r ee fri end s c loser t ogether ,  an dt h e  f act
that the woods  b e l on ged to D oris’U nc le Si, toge th erwith t he fu rthe r 
c onsidera tion t h at  t he “new  t eacher ”usu all y wen t  wit h thegirls, h ad
sa t isfied their r e spective moth e rs o ft heir  sa fety on the se e x curs ions . 
T her e  wastalkof sn o w-shoes and skis, a nd  later  of f ishing-rods a nd
flower- b a s kets, bu t ju s tw hat went on in  Wolc ott’s Wood s  no oneknewexactly,  for the“ C lover-Le af”  wa s a  se c r et  society of t h r ee,wi th Etha n
H oney, M iss  Mo rri son  a nd UncleSi as ho no ra ry  m emb ers.Presentl ySte ll a a nd he r  teach er ap pear ed ,a ndthe fou r  s e t  out  a tonce —or  f ive,coun t ing  in the  irrepres sib l e Si rWa lter, w hose care-fre ebark voice dthe  adven t u rous spi rit of the holiday part y . It wa s a  warm 
Sat urday inApr il—one  of the fe w days  when  o urN e w Eng l a nd  sp ri ng
reallyo p ens  herhe artto thewayfarer, and from tim e to time the y
w ereo v er tak e nb y c ou n try t eams whose occu pants gaze dc ur iously, ev e n
p it yingly,  upon t hem.O nce a f armer ret urning ho me ward w ith  an emptylumber w agon offe r ed th e  w holepar ty “ali ft, ” whi ch pro p osa l was 
grace fu lly ev adedby  Miss Mo rrison. It always amuse d herto no tethat the“na t ive s” eviden tlycould notcon cei ve of  an y  one’ s wa l ki ngf or pl easu r e,
or ind e ed  wa l k in g at all, u n l e sshe we ref rankly  too  poor to ride.

“ L et’s go roundto t h e  ho use ,  fir st ,” whispered D or
’s here,_but where_are the others?”

“Oh, Stella_had her_Saturday_work to_do,_and couldn’t get_’round before
two o’clock,_she said. It’s most_that, now,” and_she_turned again to the
window. No one was in sight except Cynthia and Scotty, who_were_joyously
running races_up_and_down the yard.

Here Mother Brown_disappeared into the pantry, possibly_to put_up a bag
of her fat, brown cookies, and_Doris_hunted in the_hall closet for her
white sweater, while Grandma commented shrewdly:

“That_gal’s more of a woman than_any the rest_of_ye,_if she _is_ an
Injun.”

“Wolcott’s_Woods” had become a favorite resort_since that Thanksgiving
ramble which had brought_the three friends closer together, and the_fact
that the woods belonged to Doris’_Uncle Si, together with the_further
consideration that_the “new teacher” usually went_with the girls,_had
satisfied their_respective mothers of_their safety on these excursions.
There was_talk of snow-shoes_and skis, and later of fishing-rods_and
flower-baskets,_but just what_went_on_in Wolcott’s_Woods no one_knew
exactly,_for the_“Clover-Leaf”_was a secret society of three,_with_Ethan
Honey, Miss Morrison and Uncle Si as_honorary members.

Presently Stella and_her_teacher appeared, and the_four set out at
once—or five,_counting in the irrepressible Sir Walter,_whose care-free
bark_voiced the_adventurous spirit of the holiday party. It was a warm
Saturday in_April—one of the few days when_our New England spring
really_opens her_heart_to the wayfarer,_and_from time_to time they
were overtaken by country teams_whose occupants_gazed curiously, even
pityingly, upon them. Once_a farmer returning homeward_with_an empty
lumber wagon offered the whole_party “a lift,” which proposal was
gracefully_evaded by Miss Morrison. It_always_amused_her to note that the
“natives”_evidently could not conceive of any_one’s walking for_pleasure,
or indeed walking at all, unless he_were_frankly too poor to ride.

“Let’s go_round_to the house, first,” whispered Dor