“Good-morning, Mr. Sun!” quoth Wyn, dancing a little dance of her own invention upon the summit of the green knoll that overhung the lake before the tent. “I hope you give us a fine day, and that we all enjoy it.”
With a final pirouette she ran back to the tent. Still Mrs. Havel and the others slept.
“What lazy folk!” she told them, in a whisper, and then caught up a six-quart pail and ran back through the open place and found the wood road that Polly had written her about.
She knew that to her left lay the way to the landing where Mr. Jarley kept his boats, and where their stores were under cover in a shed. But breakfast was the first consideration, and in the other direction lay Windmill Farm, at which Polly told her she had arranged for the Go-Aheads to get milk, fresh eggs, and garden vegetables.
So Wyn tripped along this right hand extension of the wood path and, within half an hour, came out of the forest upon the edge of the cleared farm. Before her lay sloping fields up, up, up to a high knoll, on the top of which stood a windmill, painted red.
The long arms of the mill, canvas-covered, rose much higher in the air than the gilt vane that glistened on the very peak of the roof. The rising sun shone full upon the windmill and made it a brilliant spot of color against the blue sky; but the wind was still and the sails did not cause the arms to revolve.
Just below the mill, upon the leisurely slope of the knoll, was set the white-painted farmhouse, with well-kept stables and out-buildings and poultry yards and piggery at the rear.
“What a pretty spot!” cried Wyn, aloud. “And the woods are so thick between it and the lake that one would never know it was here.”
She hurried on, for she knew by the smoke rising from the house chimney and the bustle of sound from the barnyard that the farmer and his family were astir.
Before she reached the side porch a number of cows, one with a bell on her neck leading the herd, filed out through the side yard and took a lane for the distant pasture. Horses neighed for their breakfasts, the pigs squealed in their sties and there was a pretty young woman singing at the well curb as she drew a great, splashing bucket of water.