The dainty rooms of the country house, with their quaint, old-fashioned, striped wall paper, the big four-poster beds, a relic of a by-gone generation, the mahogany dressers with their shining mirrors, and the delightful home-like atmosphere—­all had combined to make the stay of the girls most pleasant.

The day after their arrival by carriage they had gone on a long walk, visiting a picturesque little glen not far from the village, being accompanied by a number of girls whose acquaintance Betty and her chums had made.  Some of them Betty had met before.

The idea of a walking club was enthusiastically received by the country girls, and they at once resolved to form one like the organization started by Betty Nelson.  In fact they named it after her, in spite of her protests.

In the afternoon the girls went for a drive in Mr. Palmer’s big carriage, visiting places of local interest.  And in the evening there was an old-fashioned “surprise party”—­a real surprise too, by the way, for Betty and her chums had never dreamed of it.  It was a most delightful time.

Mr. and Mrs. Palmer had tried to persuade their niece and her chums to stay still longer, but they were firm in their determination to cover the two hundred miles—­more or less—­in the specified time.

So they had started off, and the snatches of conversation with which I begun this chapter might have been heard as the four walked along the pleasant country road.

“We’ve had very good luck so far,” said Mollie, as she skipped a few steps in advance on the greensward.  “Not a bit of rain.”

“Don’t boast!” cautioned Betty.  “It will be perfectly terrible if it rains.  We simply can’t walk if it does.”

“I don’t see why not,” spoke Mollie, trying to catch Amy in a waltz hug and whirl her about.

“My, isn’t she getting giddy!” mocked Grace.

“I feel so good!” cried Mollie, whose volatile nature seemed fairly bubbling over on this beautiful day.  And indeed it was a day to call forth all the latent energies of the most phlegmatic person.  The very air tingled with life that the sunshine coaxed into being, and the gentle wind further fanned it to rapidity of action.  “Oh, I do feel so happy!” cried Mollie.

“I guess we all do,” spoke Grace, but even as she said this she could not refrain from covertly glancing at Amy, over whose face there seemed a shade of—­well, just what it was Grace could not decide.  It might have been disappointment, or perhaps an unsatisfied longing.  Clearly the mystery over her past had made an impression on the character of this sweet, quiet girl.  But for all that she did not inflict her mood on her chums.  She must have become conscious of Grace’s quick scrutiny, for with a laugh she ran to her, and soon the two were bobbing about on the uneven turf in what they were pleased to term a “dance.”

“Your aunt was certainly good to us,” murmured Mollie, a little later.  “I’m just dying to see what she has put up for our lunch.”  For Mrs. Palmer had insisted, as has been said, on packing one of the little valises the girls carried with a noon-day meal to be eaten on the road.  Mollie was entrusted with this, her belongings having been divided among her chums.