“Can’t make him out from here,” said Mr. Willing, shading his eyes. “I wonder who he is?”
“You’ll know soon enough, Dad,” laughed Shirley. “What’s the use of wondering?”
“Well, set out a box of cigars,” said Mr. Willing, “and make a pitcher of lemonade. He’ll be thirsty after his ride.”
Shirley went towards the pantry, and returned with the lemonade just as the rider dismounted. After a glance she started back in surprise.
“Jones,” she exclaimed.
For the rider was indeed Mr. Jones, the man whom Shirley had travelled to Cincinnati to see.
Shirley ran around the house to where Mabel and young Wolfe were swinging in the hammock, in the shade of a giant elm.
“Jones is here,” she cried breathlessly, “what shall we do?”
“There is nothing to worry about,” said Wolfe. “He will try no foolishness here, I’m sure.”
“It’s not that I am afraid of,” returned Shirley, “but if he should talk to Jimmy he is likely to find out that he has been fooled.”