Part 20 (1/2)
I cl-climbed up on a board, and it's fallen down!”
”I'll get you a ladder!” cried Laurie, gallantly.
”N-no, never mind. I'm going to drop in a s-second. I just want to ask you what Brown's color is. Nettie Blanchard is going to be Brown and-”
”Why, brown, of course!”
”Oh!” There was the sound of desperate sc.r.a.ping against the farther side of the fence, and Polly's countenance became fairly convulsed with the effort of holding herself in sight. ”Oh! She said it was pur-pur-”
Polly disappeared. There was a thud from the next yard.
”Purple!” The word floated across to him, m.u.f.fled but triumphant.
”Are you hurt, Polly?” he called anxiously.
”Not a bit,” was the rueful response, ”but I'm afraid the day-lilies are!” Then she laughed merrily. ”Thanks, Nod! I didn't think Nettie was right. She loves purple, you see!”
”Does she? Well, say, maybe she can be Williams. We weren't going to have Williams, but its color is purple, I think, and if she is going to be disappointed-”
”She will look very well indeed in brown,” came from the other side in judicial tones; ”and if we begin making changes, half the girls will want to be something they aren't. Why, Pearl Fayles begged to be some girls' college neither Mae nor I had ever heard of, just so she could wear lavender and pale lemon!”
”Well, all right,” laughed Laurie. ”She'd better stick to Brown-and brown! Good-by, Polly. I'll drop in after a while and find out how things are getting on.”
He turned to find Bob viewing him quizzically from the end of the arbor, swinging a hammer in each hand. ”Of course it's all right, I dare say,”
he announced, ”but I _thought_ you came here to fix up the arbor.
Instead of that I find you talking to girls over the fence!”
”There's only one girl,” replied Laurie, with dignity, ”and we were talking business.”
”Oh, of course! Sorry I interrupted.”
”You needn't be, and you didn't. Quit grinning like a simpleton and give me a hammer!”
”Right-o! Come on, Thomas! It's quite all right now!”
An hour later their task was done, and well done, and they viewed it with approval. To be honest, the major part of the work had been performed by the faithful Thomas, although it is not to be denied that both Laurie and Bob toiled conscientiously. Before they were through approving the result from various angles, Bob's father joined them. Mr.
Starling was an older edition of Bob-a tall, straight, lean-visaged man of forty-two or -three, with the complexion of one who had lived an outdoor life. He had a deep, pleasant voice and a quiet manner not fully in accord with a pair of keen eyes and a firm mouth.
”I'd call that a good piece of work, boys,” he said, as he joined them.
”And right up to specifications, too. Those paper lanterns come yet, Bob?”
”No, sir; I haven't seen them.”
”Lanterns, Mr. Starling?” asked Laurie. ”Do you mean Chinese lanterns?
We've ordered a lot from the caterer, sir.”
”Tell him you won't need them, then. I've got a hundred coming up from the city, Turner. They ought to be here, too. Thomas, call up the express company and ask about them.”
”That's very kind, sir,” said Laurie, ”but you needn't have done it.
You-you're doing _everything_!”