A white clapboarded house with moss-green shutters¹ and a dark oak "Dutch" door, the upper half of which swung hospitably² open—this was Rainbow Hill in the light of the late June afternoon sun. A little jewel of a house set in the center of a close-cropped emerald-green lawn and circled by sturdy old trees, elms and maples³ that had marked the site of the old homestead and now guarded the "new house" as it had been called ever since it had been built six years before to replace the farmhouse⁴ destroyed by fire.  
"Welcome to Rainbow Hill," said Mrs. Joseph Hildreth, coming out on the red tiled walk as a car swept up to the door and stopped.
 
Mrs. Hildreth, the wife of the tenant⁵ farmer, was a young woman with wide-awake blue eyes and an air of capability⁶ that struck terror to the souls of the lazy. She was known far and wide as "a hustler" and she had been known to do a large washing and baking in the morning and drive the hay rake in the field in the afternoon on occasions when her husband was short of help. It was a pity her voice was so loud and rasping, but then not everyone is sensitive to voices.
 
"I guess you'll find everything about ready for your supper," said Mrs. Hildreth when Doctor Hugh had introduced Sarah and Shirley and Winnie, the three members of the party she had not met previously⁷. "I brought up a pail of strawberries—they'll be better next week. Mrs. Hammond said you were to have half the garden, same as they did. The butter may be a little soft, but Joe will get you a piece of ice in the morning at the creamery. We weren't sure you'd get here to-day, so I didn't order it."
 
With a few more confidences, directed mainly to Winnie, she went back to her own house—an attractive story and a half bungalow⁸ just visible from the side porch, and the Willis family were free to take possession of Rainbow Hill.
 
"Isn't it darling!" Rosemary kept exclaiming. "Aren't the rugs pretty—and the white curtains! Wait till you see the rooms upstairs."
 
In spite of Winnie's warning that supper would be ready in fifteen minutes and Doctor Hugh's declaration that he must go back to Eastshore as soon as the meal was over, it was impossible to refrain from running upstairs for a peep at the second story. There was a large and airy bedroom for the mother, a connecting room which was allotted⁹ to Rosemary and across the hall a smaller room with twin beds which would, it was instantly decided¹⁰, "fit" Sarah and Shirley. Next to this was the guest room which Doctor Hugh would occupy during his visits, and at the other end of the hall, next to the shining blue and white tiled bathroom, a square room with two windows and a narrow balcony that delighted Winnie.
 
"There's no nicer place to dry your hair," she explained seriously to Mrs. Willis. "I can sit out there and darn stockings while my hair is drying."
 
The trunks and one or two boxes, packed with necessary possessions mostly of a personal nature, had been sent on ahead in the morning and were already in the halls. The house was tastefully furnished throughout and Mrs. Willis assured her son that as soon as she had rearranged a few trifles and had unpacked¹¹ her treasures she was sure she would feel contented¹² and at home.
 
"I want to go everywhere!" declared Sarah, subsiding¹³ into a chair at the dining-room table with visible reluctance¹⁴. "I want to see the horses and the cows and the pigs. Say, Hugh, do you think we could keep pigs when we go home? There's room in the yard."
 
"You want to go to bed early and save your exploring until to-morrow," advised the doctor. "I have to be back at the house by eight and that's bed-time for one little girl I know. Shirley looks sleepy now."
 
"I'm not," said Shirley automatically, her invariable remark whenever the subject was mentioned.
 
Although the doctor had an appointment waiting him, he seemed to find it hard to tear himself away from the pleasant picture the mother and her three daughters made on the spacious¹⁵ side porch after supper that night. Winnie had insisted on displaying her convenient kitchen and though there was no gas range she declared that the oil stove would fulfill¹⁶ all her requirements except for her weekly baking when she would build a fire in the range. There Were electric lights throughout the house; and the outbuildings, as they learned later, as well as the tenant house, were also wired.
 
"Here comes somebody!" said Sarah in a loud whisper. "It's the farmeress."
 
"No it isn't, it's two of them," asserted Shirley, pressing her small nose against the wire screen and acquiring a plaid pattern on the tip.
 
"Hush—they'll hear you," said Mrs. Willis, rising and opening the screen door as two young men came across the lawn.
 
"Mrs. Willis?" said the taller. "Mr. Hildreth sent us up to see if you wanted any help, unpacking¹⁷. This is Richard Gilbert," he introduced his companion, "and I am Warren Baker¹⁸. We're working for Mr. Hildreth this summer."
 
Doctor Hugh came forward at once and while they were being introduced the three girls studied the newcomers with interest. They were both apparently¹⁹ about eighteen years old, both deeply tanned, both slim and muscular and wholesome-looking. Richard Gilbert was slightly shorter and heavier than Warren, who was really thin. The latter had dark hair and gray eyes, while Richard's hair and eyes were brown. Both boys were neatly²⁰, if not smartly, dressed and gave a pleasant impression of cleanliness, coolness and comfort, though they had done a heavy day's work and their day had started at five that morning. Rosemary instantly decided that she liked them both.
 
So did the rest of the Willis family, and Doctor Hugh delayed his departure till he declared that one more moment would mean he must break the speed laws to get back to town. It had been arranged that he was to take his breakfast and dinner with the hospitable²¹ Welles, a most convenient plan since their house was the nearest. He was seldom home for lunch and his telephone calls would be taken care of at the "Jordan office" as Eastshore still called the rooms which had been occupied by the old and popular physician whose practise had been taken over by Doctor Hugh.
 
Mrs. Willis watched him drive away, satisfied that his comfort was provided for; and then, as she had decreed that no unpacking was to be done that night, Richard and Warren took their leave, after promising²² to show the girls the whole farm the next morning.
 
"If they know what they're about, they'll tie a rope to Sarah," said Winnie, going about locking doors and windows as though she expected a siege.
 
She had managed to "get a good look," as she said, at the visitors and had approved of them whole-heartedly.
 
"Nice, ordinary boys," she said to Mrs. Willis at the first opportunity. "Not a bit stiff or shy. did you notice, and yet not any of these smart Alecs that can't stop talking long enough to listen to what a body has to say."
 
"What are you locking up all the windows for, Winnie?" Sarah questioned her, sitting down on the rug to take off her sandals as a preparation for the trip upstairs. "You'll have to open them all in the morning again."
 
"Well, maybe I will," admitted Winnie, turning the key in the front door and sliding both bolts with emphasis, "but I won't come downstairs and find the parlor²³ full of skunks²⁴ and owls²⁵ and bats—we'll be saved that."
 
"They couldn't get through the screens," protested Sarah, whose natural tendency to argue was intensified²⁷ by weariness.
 
"You never can tell," was Winnie's answer to this. "I'm not taking any chances in the country."
 
She thought Sarah had gone up to bed and was startled a few minutes later, when busy in the kitchen, to hear the door open behind her.
 
"What are you doing, Winnie?" demanded Sarah, her dark eyes instantly coming to rest on the table where, spread out in imposing²⁸ array, were three mousetraps and the cheese with which Winnie intended to bait them.
 
"If you must know," said Winnie, exasperated²⁹, "I'm setting mousetraps."
 
"Oh!" Sarah gulped³⁰. "Oh, Winnie—the poor little mice!"
 
"Now, Sarah, don't begin all that," Winnie pleaded. "I'm dead tired and I haven't the heart to start a debate with you. I'll say one thing and then I'm through; I don't intend and nothing shall induce me, to have a lot of nasty little mice tramping over my pantry shelves."
 
"How do you know they will?" asked Sarah.
 
"Because," said Winnie with terrible finality.
 
Sarah and Shirley were asleep two minutes after their heads touched the pillow; and the house was in darkness soon after, for they were all tired from the events of the day.
 
In her room, though, Rosemary did not find that sleep came immediately. After lying quietly in bed, staring into the soft darkness, she felt more wide-awake than ever. She slipped softly to the floor, felt for and found her pretty white dressing³¹ gown and slippers—Rosemary was very fond of white—which were close at hand and, wrapping herself up comfortably, pattered over to the open window.
 
It was a moonlight night, warm and sweet, and Rosemary knelt down with a little gasp³² at the loveliness spread before her. She rested her elbows on the low window sill and leaned forward, drinking in the scent³³ of new hay and roses and dewy grass. The shrill³⁴, insistent³⁵ chorus of insects was music, and when the mournful cry of a distant hoot³⁶ owl²⁶ came out of the woods that rose shadowy and dark across the white ribbon of road, why that was music, too. Country nights are no more absolutely silent than nights in the town or city, but some enchantment³⁷ weaves the noises of the countryside into graceful³⁸ harmony. The cry of a bird, the soft stirring of the animals in the barns, the far barking of a watchful³⁹ dog—all these Rosemary heard; and the insects filled in the pauses.
 
She did not know how long she had been at the window when, faintly—miles away, she would have said—she heard the notes of a violin.
 
"Rosemary!" whispered someone from the doorway⁴⁰. "Are you awake, darling?"
 
Mrs. Willis came across the room and knelt beside her daughter.
 
"Did you hear it, Mother? It couldn't be a violin—yes, it is! But at this time of night and way out in the country!"
 
"Listen!" said Mrs. Willis softly.
 
Rosemary had inherited her passionate⁴¹ love for music from her, and her delight and wonder were no greater than her mother's as the music came nearer. Someone was playing Schubert's "Serenade" in the moonlight.
 
"I see him!" whispered Rosemary. "Look, Mother—an old man!"
 
Sure enough, as they watched, a halting figure came down the road which the moonlight had changed to a silver ribbon. They knew he was old for he was stooped and walked with the shuffling⁴² gait that comes from feebleness. His head was bent⁴³ over his violin, and as he walked those unearthly sweet strains melted into the moonlight and became a part of the silver mist. Just as he reached a point opposite the house he must have stopped. A tree hid him from the two watching. Probably he sat down on the large rock at the side of the road to rest—to rest and play. For, hidden from the enthralled⁴⁴ listeners, he played the "Serenade" through twice, lovingly, delicately, with a haunting yearning⁴⁵ that held a touch of genius. Then, still playing, he shuffled⁴⁶ on. They caught a glimpse of him as he came out from behind the tree, saw the light flash on his bow and he was gone. They listened until his music had died away in the distance—always the "Serenade," over and over.
 
"Oh—Mother!" Rosemary raised her blue eyes, swimming in tears.
 
"Yes, dearest—" there was a little catch in Mrs. Willis' tender voice. "It was very beautiful and very wonderful—but you must go to bed now. It is late."
 
Rosemary, turning drowsily⁴⁷ to pillow her cheek on her hand after her mother's kiss, was conscious of a hope that the old violin player might not lack a comfortable bed and the peace and security of a home—somewhere.
 
"It is so nice at Rainbow Hill," murmured Rosemary, drifting off into delicious slumber⁴⁸.