Laughing in spite of herself, Miss Larkin opened the door, and found the three children crouching on the floor, their faces buried in their hands. As the door opened, they gave a long, low, wailing groan, previously agreed upon, and then they jumped up, smiling.
“Dear Miss Larkin,” said King, with overdone politeness, “may we invite you to go window-boxing with us? It’s a delightful day, and we want——”
“We want to dig,” interrupted Marjorie.
“Yes, we’ll set about it at once,” said Miss Larkin, briskly.
It had suddenly occurred to her that the best way to quiet these turbulent young people was to get them occupied.
“My intention is,” she said, “to present you children with the window boxes, and the plants. Then, after we set them out, of course, you will have to take care of them—or Thomas will. But I’m sure you’ll enjoy doing it yourself, and, as I said, they will make a lovely greeting for your parents on their return.”
“Where do we get the boxes?” King burst out, rather explosively, for he was trying to repress his over-enthusiasm.
“I think we can get them all ready made, at Mr. Pettingill’s shop. I saw some there the other day. That’s what made me think of it. Get your hats, and we’ll go and see.”
At last, here was a start. They flew for their hats, the girls taking the precaution to hang on to their hair-ribbons, for King was in mischievous mood this morning.
In less than ten minutes they started, King and Miss Larkin walking decorously ahead, and the two girls walking demurely behind.