When we were ready to go home Hepburn and Ellery said they were going back by what is called the upper road, which is a half mile farther, but we chose the lower road, and were home a good half hour ahead of them.
It was after six and we were ravenous. A west wind was blowing and it had blown the crazy horde of mosquitoes away, and it was much cooler, and I am thankful to say that not again that summer did we have such a visitation. Mosquitoes might always be found in the long grass, but it was easy to avoid them.
Minerva prepared an early breakfast, and just as we sat down to it Ellery and Hepburn arrived.
“How do you like it as far as you’ve got, Talcott?” asked Tom, as we all sat down.
“Well, do you know I read this ‘Simple Life,’ that the President recommended, and I didn’t see such an awful lot in it, but if this is it, it’s all right. I don’t think I ever had such an appetite for breakfast before.”
“After being awake all night you ought to have,” said I, in an apologetic tone. “You see the Wheelocks had two young children and they did not entertain and as we took the house furnished we were not prepared as we should have been.”
“But it’s nice to have the house full all the time,” said Ethel, who evidently thought my remark ungracious.
“No question of its having been filled last night,” said Tom, rubbing his cheek, “Filled with mosquitoes. I thought they never came up here.”
“You might say they never do. Last night was an exception,” said I.
“Dear, dear, how like Jersey that sounds. Jersey nights are made up of exceptions,” said Tom.