The Moving Picture Girls at Oak Farm | Page 7

restful!"
"Restful! Yes! I should say it was!" exclaimed Pearl Pennington, as she bent a stick of chewing gum, preparatory to enjoying it. "I know what I'll do, all right!"
"What, dear?" asked her friend Laura Dixon, with lazy interest. "What'll you do?"
"I'll be going back to little old New York in about a week. This place has got on my nerves already. Ugh! Isn't it quiet!"
It certainly was, after the departure of the train. There was none of the various noises of New York. Even the horses seemed ready to go to sleep as they stood lazily at the shafts or poles of the vehicles they drew.
"Come on!" cried Sandy, hospitably. "It's quite a little drive out to our farm, and I know your folks must be tired and hungry."
"Hungry! That's no name for it!" voiced Miss Dixon. "Have you any lobsters, Mr. Apgar?"
"Lobsters? No'm. They don't raise none of them birds out here. But we got chicken."
"Oh, listen to him, Pearl!" exclaimed Miss Dixon. "He thinks a lobster is a bird."
"Don't mind them," said Paul Ardite to Sandy, in a low voice. "It hasn't been many years that they could afford lobster. Chicken for mine, every time."
"Well, they do say ma cooks th' best chicken around here," spoke Sandy, proudly. "She done it in Southern style this time."
"Say no more!" exclaimed Mr. DeVere. "Sandy, you are a gentleman and a scholar. How long will it take us to get to your farm?"
"About half an hour."
"That's twenty-nine minutes too long, since you have mentioned chicken in Southern style. But do your best."
Seated in the comfortable carryall, the members of the moving picture company began their trip to Oak Farm. The way lay along a pleasant country road, and in the distance could be seen the cool, green hills.
It was early June, and, all about, the farmers were doing their work. The air was sweet with the scent of flowers and the green woods, for the road led past several forest patches where the wind swept pleasantly through the swaying trees.
"Oh, it is just lovely here!" sighed Ruth, as she removed her hat and let the gentle wind blow about her hair. "I know I shall love it. And, Daddy dear, maybe it will do your voice good."
"Perhaps it will, daughter," he agreed. "However, since we are doing so well in moving pictures, I have not the desire I had at first to get back to the boards. I am becoming content in this line."
"I'm glad," said Alice, "for I like it very much. Oh, it is lovely here, Ruth!"
"Just fine, I call it!" exclaimed Russ. "The air is so clear. I'm sure we'll get fine pictures here."
"I know we'll die of loneliness," grumbled Miss Pennington. "I wish we hadn't come, Laura."
"So do I, but there's no help for it now," replied Miss Dixon.
Rumbling behind the carryall was the farm wagon containing the trunks, and in less than the half-hour stipulated by Sandy, Oak Farm was reached. Ruth, Alice and their father fell in love with the place at first sight. Mr. Pertell and Russ had seen it before, and most of the others admired it.
There was a big, old-fashioned farmhouse, setting back from the road, and fronted by a wide stretch of green lawn. The house was white, with green shutters, and was well kept. Back of it were barns and other farm buildings, some of which were rather dilapidated.
"Welcome to Oak Farm!" cried Sandy. "There's Pa Felix and Ma Nance lookin' for ye! Here they are, Ma!" he called. "All ready for your chicken."
"Bring 'em right in!" the mother invited, cordially.
Ruth and Alice liked the farmer's wife at once. There was a stoop to her shoulders that told of many weary days of work, and she looked worn and tired, but there was a bright welcome in her eyes as she greeted the visitors. "Pa Felix," as Sandy called his father, was rather old and feeble.
"Come right in and make yourselves to home," urged Mrs. Apgar. "Your rooms is all ready for ye!"
"Where is the bell-boy?" asked Miss Pennington, with uptilted head and powdered nose. "I want him to take my valise to my room at once. And I shall want a bath before dinner."
"Isn't she horrid, to try to put on such airs here?" said Alice to Ruth, nodding in the direction of the vaudeville actress.
"Yes. She only does it to make trouble."
Sandy and his father were talking together in low tones in one corner of the big parlor.
"You didn't get any word; did you?" asked the old man.
"No, Pa. There wasn't no letter."
"Then we won't git th' money."
"It don't look so."
"And we'll have to lose th' place?"
"I--I'm afraid so," replied Sandy.
"Gosh! That--that's hard, in my old age," said the elderly farmer, softly. "I hoped your ma and I'd