“And a garden,” Cassy added, eagerly.
“And pigeons, maybe,” from Jerry.
“And we’ll have picnics whenever we want them,” Rock went on.
“We?”
“Yes; you’re not going to leave me out. I go up there every summer, if you please.”
“Oh, do you?”
“That’s fine,” said Jerry. “Oh, pshaw! I almost thought it was going to be really. Cass, where shall I put the milk?”
“On the window ledge, outside; it is cooler there than anywhere else.”
“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Rock, looking at his watch. “It’s after three and I promised George Reed that I’d be there by half-past. I must travel. Good-bye, Cassy. Good-bye, Jerry; I’ve had a bang up time.” He lost no time in getting away, gazed after admiringly by both the children, Jerry declaring that he was “hot stuff,” and Cassy saying: “I think he’s like a real Prince of Wales.”
It was late when their mother returned, tired out, and after Cassy had bustled around and had set before her the remains of the feast, she told them that so far all seemed very promising, but that such matters could not be settled at once. Yet Cassy saw that there was a brighter smile on her mother’s face and that she did not turn at once to that hateful pile of sewing.