His pony and his car, those would be his only two interests for refuge at a time like this when life was in chaos. And she must have Jeremy. He was next in age.

Chapter 2

Jennifer found Jeremy in the stable, lovingly grooming his black satin pony whose coat was already shining with care and rippling over the quivering muscles with nervous energy.

She arrived silently before her absorbed brother, the telegram still crumpled in her tense young hand.

“Jerry, do you want to be separated?” she asked in a dramatic voice.

Jeremy straightened up from his task and looked at his sister, bewildered.

“Separated?” he echoed. “Whaddaya mean, separated? Heck, Jen, you scared the life out of me. What’s happened?”

“Plenty!” said Jennifer, lowering her voice. “Don’t talk too loud; somebody might hear. Where’s the chauffeur or the stable boy?”

“Both away,” said the boy. “Cook sent the stable boy on an errand, and the chauffeur asked me if he might go to the village for an hour. Why, did you want him?”

“Mercy no! I just want to be sure nobody will hear.”

“Well, there’s nobody around here but my horse, and I guess he won’t do anything about it. What’s up?”

“Oh!” said Jennifer, wide eyed and white to the lips. “The whole outfit of relatives are hot on our trail. They want to separate us, send me off to Europe or marry me off, send you to college, and park the rest around among ’em while they sell the house and snitch all our nice pretty home things!”

“Creeping catfish! Nobody can do that to us, can they? Who wants to do that?”

“Practically all our aunts, except Agatha Lane, and what do you think she’s got up her sleeve? She wants to park us up at the old farm with Cousin Abigail Storm as our overseer. And I’m not sure but she’ll win them all over to her plan! Look there!” And Jennifer held out the crumpled telegram.

Jeremy put down his grooming implements and smoothed out the telegram, reading it with startled eyes.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, looking up at his sister accusingly. “It wasn’t sent to you, was it?”

“Why, I didn’t look,” said Jennifer. “Oh, my goodness! It was sent to Agatha Lane. I supposed it was just one of the telegrams that have been coming in every day—” she stopped, appalled. “Say, Jerry, Aunt Agatha must have been sounding out Cousin Abigail Storm or she never would have sent that telegram!”

“Well, maybe not,” said the boy speculatively. “Still, you know the Storm was always one of those who rush in where angels fear to tread. She might have thought it was a good way to feather her nest. But say, Aunt Agatha’s going to be sore as a boil when she finds out you opened her telegram. Especially if she’s been expecting an answer. Must be she gave our address, or dear old Abby would never have sent Agatha’s telegram here! Old Ag sure will be furious at you!”

“Well, she’s not going to have the chance!” said Jennifer, snatching the telegram, tearing it across into little bits, and stuffing them into a minute pocket of her blouse. “But say, Jerry, what are we going to do? And you certainly don’t want the Storm to be our policeman?”

“I should say not!” said Jeremy. “Before that I’d beat it and go round the world or something. Abby Storm isn’t going to tell me where to get off.”

“Oh, you would, would you? You’d go off alone and have a good time and leave your family to suffer whatever came to them, would you? Well, if that’s the way you feel, it isn’t worthwhile to waste my time talking to you, for there isn’t much time to waste, I’m telling you!”

Jennifer held her head high and, turning on her heels, walked crisply out of the stable and up the driveway.

Jeremy stared after in dismay.

“Hey! Jen! Come back here!” he called. “Come on back! Oh heck! Whaddaya haveta get up in the air for? Come on back! I didn’t mean that!”

But Jennifer walked swiftly on around the drive toward the high hedge where the children were playing, and Jeremy presently started after her full tilt, catching up with her and striding along by her side.

“What’s eating ya, Jen?” he said. “I don’t mean I’d go away and leave ya all. Of course I wouldn’t! What d’ya think we oughtta do? D’ya want me ta go in there where the lawyer’s supposed ta be and tell them all where ta get off?”

“No,” said Jennifer. “That would be the worst thing you could do. They’ve got a bad enough opinion of us all now.