“Don’t, Heavy,” advised Helen. “You will only go farther and do worse. In my mind there has always been a suspicion that the Mayflower was sent over here by some shipped knocked-down furniture factory. Miles Standish and Priscilla Mullins and John Alden must have hung on by their eyebrows.”
“Their eyebrows—ma foi!” gasped Marchand.
“Say, old man,” said Tom, laughing, “if you listen to these crazy college girls you will have a fine idea of our historical monuments, and so forth. Take everything with a grain of salt—do.”
“Oui, Monsieur! But I must have a little pepper, too. I am ‘strong,’ as you Americans say, for plentiful seasoning.”
“Isn’t he cute?” demanded Jenny Stone. “He takes to American slang like a bird to the air.”
“Poetry barred!” declared Helen.
“Say,” Tom remarked aside to the colonel, “you’ve got all the pep necessary, sure enough, in Jennie.”
“She is one dear!” sighed the Frenchman.
“And she just said you were a bird. You’ll have a regular zoo about you yet. Come on. Let’s see if we can get this baggage aboard the good ship. It does look a good deal of an ark, doesn’t it?”
Although Ruth and Aunt Kate had not joined in this repartee, the girl of the Red Mill, as well as their lovely chaperon, enjoyed the fun immensely. Ruth had revived in spirits on meeting her friends. Jennie had flown to her arms at the first greeting, and hugged the girl of the Red Mill with due regard to the mending shoulder.