Perhaps that station is better than Glenside, after all."
The walk across the fields tranquillized her, and she was able to
enlist the aid of the Keppler's oldest boy without entering into too
detailed an account of Mr. Peabody's shortcomings. Indeed, the
Kepplers, father and sons, having been the nearest neighbors to
Bramble Farm for eleven years, had a very fair idea of what went on
there.
"Sure, I'll take you, and the trunk, too," promised Fred Keppler
heartily. "Any time you say, Betty. There's a good train for
Pineville, not too many stops, at twelve-three. How about that?"
It was settled that he should come for her about half past ten, and
Betty walked home filled with thoughts of the little home town to
which she would be speeding on the morrow.
"If Uncle Dick knew the things I've had to endure, I'm sure he'd say
that I haven't lost my temper often, considering," she mused. "Is
that something sticking out of the mail box? Why. it is, and a
newspaper. I guess Mr. Peabody forgot to come down to the box to-day."
She opened the box and found the paper was addressed to her. The
familiar wrapper and type told her it was the _Pineville Post_, to
which she had subscribed when she left the town, and, tucking it under
her arm, she went on to the house, intending to read an hour or so
before going to bed.
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