"That is what we must think over. Suppose you put your wits to work right now. I must go down to Jane's for a few moments. After all, Pauline, those promised twenty-fives can be used very pleasantly—even in Winton."
"But it will still be Winton."
"Winton may develop some unexplored corners, some new outlooks."
Pauline looked rather doubtful; then, catching sight of a small dejected-looking little figure in the swing, under the big cherry-tree at the foot of the lawn, she asked, "I suppose I may tell Patience now, mother? She really has been very good all this time of waiting."
"She certainly has. Only, not too many details, Pauline. Patience is of such a confiding disposition."
"Patience," Pauline called, "suppose we go see if there aren't some strawberries ripe?"
Patience ran off for a basket. Strawberries! As if she didn't know they were only a pretext. Grown people were assuredly very queer—but sometimes, it was necessary to humor, their little whims and ways.
"I don't believe they are ripe yet," she said, skipping along beside her sister. "O Paul, is it—nice?"
"Mother thinks so!"
"Don't you?"