Betsy-Tacy and Tib by Maud Hart Lovelace

which they had a view over the town and the river. But one day they turned right.
    Here the Big Hill stretched away to the south. Flat and grassy and dotted with trees, the top of the Big Hill stretched to they didn’t know where. Betsy and Tacy and Tib decided to walk in that direction. They walked and they walked and they walked.
    They were carrying a picnic basket; and although they took turns carrying it, it grew heavy at last. The day was warm and they were almost ready to stop and eat their lunch beneath the shade of the trees when Tib made a discovery.
    “Look!” she said. “These trees aren’t just scattered every which way any more.”
    “They’re going in two rows,” said Tacy.
    “It’s a lane!” cried Betsy. She stopped still. They allstopped, and they looked before and behind them.
    Sure enough, it was a lane. The trees were no longer scattered oaks and elms and maples; they were all beech trees and they were planted in two rows. The rows ran as straight as though they had been laid down with a ruler. They ran like two lines of marching soldiers … where?
    “Where do you suppose this lane leads to?” Tacy asked.
    “There isn’t any house up on the Big Hill, except the Ekstroms’,” Tib said.
    Betsy peered down the mysterious shadowy lane.
    “Maybe Aunt Dolly lives up here,” she said.
    “Oh no,” said Tib. “She lives in Milwaukee.”
    “She
used
to live in Milwaukee,” said Tacy. “That doesn’t mean she will live there forever.”
    “Well, she lives in Milwaukee now,” said Tib. “Because my mamma had a letter from her. She’s coming to visit us.”
    “What?” cried Betsy.
    “You never told us!” cried Tacy.
    “I was going to tell you,” said Tib. “But this Aunt Dolly who’s coming to visit us … she’s just Aunt Dolly. She doesn’t live in a mirror or up in the sky or here in this lane or anything. Does she, Betsy?” Tib looked puzzled.
    “Wait and see,” said Betsy. “When’s she coming?”
    “Next week,” said Tib.
    “Tib!” cried Betsy and Tacy.
    They could hardly believe their good luck.
    “We can see her!” cried Betsy.
    “We’ll come over and peek,” said Tacy.
    “Oh, I’ll invite you in,” said Tib. “You can come in and talk to her.”
    “I’d be scared to,” said Tacy.
    “Why, she’s very nice,” said Tib. “Would you be scared, Betsy?”
    “Yes, a little,” Betsy said.
    “I don’t see why,” said Tib.
    “Well,” said Betsy. “Let’s investigate this lane. And then we can talk some more.”
    The lane was like a tunnel, green and dim. No clover or butter-and-eggs or daisies grew beneath the beeches. Tacy found some clammy Indian pipes but mostly the grass was empty now. There were traces of a path.
    “There’s a path here,” Betsy said.
    “There used to be,” said Tib. “But nobody uses it much any more.”
    “I wonder why not,” said Tacy. She said it in a whisper.
    “It’s leading to something,” said Tib excitedly.
    “It’s so stately,” said Betsy looking overhead. “It seems as though it should lead to a Palace.”
    “It’s scary,” whispered Tacy. “I’m almost scared to go on.”
    Betsy was scared too, but she wouldn’t admit it. Tib wasn’t scared though. Tib was tiny but she was never scared.
    “Come on,” she said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” And she flew ahead like a little yellow feather. Betsy and Tacy followed, and they came to the end of the lane.
    At the end of the lane was the beginning of a house. Just the foundation walls of a house, and it seemed to have been built a long time ago. Tall woolly mullein stalks and blue vervain and sunflowers crowded around the low stone wall which was crumbling and falling away.
    “Who do you suppose started that house?” asked Betsy, staring at it.
    “And why didn’t they finish it?” asked Tacy.
    “I’ll ask my father,” said Tib. “He knows all about houses.”
    “Oh, no!” cried Betsy. “Let’s have this for a secret.