"Aren't they good and quiet?" said Meg with satisfaction, as she poked the patient turkey hen through the tent flaps and heard the soft mutterings of the ducks and hens, who thought it was night and time to go to sleep.
Just as the Indians had the last captive snugly fastened in, Peter, with Terry harnessed to the "market wagon," a light wagon that was used to take the butter and eggs over to town in, came down the drive from the barn.
"Whoa!" said Peter to Terry.
"Oh, Mr. Peter!" The four little Blossoms rushed out to greet him. "Where are you going? Can't we go? Where's Jerry?"
Peter surveyed the four Indians gravely.
"Well, as I'm going up in the mountain, I guess we won't meet any one who'll be scared to death," he said slowly. "So I don't know but perhaps you might hop in. Jerry? I left him in the stable. This wagon goes with one horse."
As the children scrambled in, Peter thought of something.
"Like as not Miss Polly'll be back before we
