Part 7 (1/2)
”We have such a lot of picnics--year after year!”
”A nice picnic is always sort of new. Miranda does put up such beautiful lunches. O Paul, couldn't we afford chocolate layer cake _every_ time, now?”
”You goosey!” Pauline laughed again heartily.
”And maybe there'll be an excursion somewhere's, and by'n'by there'll be the town fair. Paul, there's a ripe berry! And another and--”
”See here, hold on, Impatience!” Pauline protested, as the berries disappeared, one after another, down Patience's small throat.
”Perhaps, if you stop eating them all, we can get enough for mother's and father's supper.”
”Maybe they went and hurried to get ripe for to-night, so we could celebrate,” Patience suggested. ”Paul, mayn't I go with you next time you go over to The Maples?”
”We'll see what mother says.”
”I hate 'we'll see's'!” Patience declared, reaching so far over after a particularly tempting berry, that she lost her balance, and fell face down among them.
”Oh, dear!” she sighed, as her sister came to her a.s.sistance, ”something always seems to happen clean-ap.r.o.n afternoon! Paul, wouldn't it be a 'good time,' if Miranda would agree not to scold 'bout perfectly unavoidable accidents once this whole summer?”
”Who's to do the deciding as to the unavoidableness?” Pauline asked.
”Come on, Patience, we've got about all the ripe ones, and it must be time for you to lay the supper-table.”
”Not laying supper-tables would be another good time,” Patience answered. ”We did get enough, didn't we? I'll hull them.”
”I wonder,” Pauline said, more as if speaking to herself, ”whether maybe mother wouldn't think it good to have Jane in now and then--for extra work? Not supper-tables, young lady.”
”Jane would love it. She likes to work with Miranda--she says Miranda's such a nice lady. Do you think she is, Paul?”
”I'm thinking about other things just now.”
”I don't--There's mother. Goodness, Miranda's got the cloth on!”
And away sped the child.
To Patience's astonishment, nothing was said at supper, either of Uncle Paul's letter, or the wonderful things it was to lead to. Mr. Shaw kept his wife engaged with parish subjects and Pauline appeared lost in thoughts of her own. Patience fidgeted as openly as she dared. Of all queer grown-ups--and it looked as though most grown-ups were more or less queer--father was certainly the queerest. Of course, he knew about the letter; and how could he go on talking about stupid, uninteresting matters--like the Ladies' Aid and the new hymn books?
Even the first strawberries of the season pa.s.sed unnoticed, as far as he was concerned, though Mrs. Shaw gave Patience a little smiling nod, in recognition of them.
”Mother,” Pauline exclaimed, the moment her father had gone back to his study, ”I've been thinking--Suppose we get Hilary to pretend--that coming home is coming to a _new_ place? That she is coming to visit us? We'll think up all the interesting things to do, that we can, and the pretty places to show her.”
”That would be a good plan, Pauline.”
”And if she's company, she'll have to have the spare room,” Patience added.
”Jolly for you, Patience!” Pauline said. ”Only, mother, Hilary doesn't like the spare room; she says it's the dreariest room in the house.”
”If she's company, she'll have to pretend to like it, it wouldn't be good manners not to,” Patience observed. The prospect opening out ahead of them seemed full of delightful possibilities. ”I hope Miranda catches on to the game, and gives us pound-cake and hot biscuits for supper ever so often, and doesn't call me to do things, when I'm busy entertaining 'the company.'”
”Mother,” Pauline broke in--”do keep quiet. Impatience--couldn't we do the spare room over--there's that twenty-five dollars? We've planned it so often.”
”We might make some alterations, dear--at least.”