"Well, don't sing it to-day, and I will come home early if I can get away, and take Miss Jaqueline out. Ralph, you might invite Patricia. We will go up the creek road. The birds are out in force already; the shore larks and the thrush are making melody that would rejoice the heart of Robin Hood."
"But—I have no habit," replied Jaqueline, her bright face shadowed with disappointment.
"Oh, mother can look you up something. We have attire that came over with my Lord de la Ware's ships. Why shouldn't we be as proud as of old Mayflower tables and cups and cloaks that the New Englanders dote on?"
"I can find something, I am sure," was the motherly reply.
"Come out and take a breath of this delicious air."
That was meant for Jaqueline, who followed the young man out on the porch, down the steps, and then they loitered through the garden walk. The old white-haired gardener was clearing up the garden beds.
"Mornin', massa and young missy," he said, with a touch of his hand to his head, that looked like a wig of crinkly wool.
Roger paused and gave some orders. Then he gathered a few wild violets and gave them to the girl with a graceful gesture.
His mother was watching. "If he only would come to care for someone!" she mused. He was a general admirer of the sex, as the young men of that day were wont to be. "And the Masons are a fine family. I would like nothing better."
How many times she had given anticipatory consent!