You didn't know that Judge Moore's place is open for the summah, did you, and that all the family came out yesta'day?
Well, they did, and if Bobby Moore isn't ovah to my house by the time we get back home, we'll go ovah to Bobby's." As she spoke, she passed through the gate at the end of the avenue and turned into the public road, a wide pike with a railroad track on one side of it and a bridle-path on the other.

Two minutes' brisk canter brought her to another gate, one that had been closed all winter, and one that she was greatly interested in, because it led to Judge Moore's house.

Judge Moore was Rob's grandfather, and she and Rob had played together every summer since she could remember.
The wide white gate was standing open now, and she drew rein, peering anxiously in.

She hoped for the sight of a familiar freckled face or the sound of a welcoming whoop.

But it was so still everywhere that all she saw was the squirrels playing hide and seek in the beech-grove around the house, and all she heard was the fearless cry, "Pewee! pewee!" of a little bird perched in a tree overarching the gate.