CHAPTER XI
Still They Come
The girls did not really enjoy the tea as it had been served on the Merry Jane. Not that the tea wasn’t good; it must have been, for Russian tea is famous. But it tasted that way, they thought—“famous.” Home-made tea was much more congenial. Consequently, at home again, the tea given them at “Buckingham Palace” when supper was served was even more appreciated than usual.
“Maybe that water from the samovar——” began Terry.
“No, those old brass urns are lined with—well, I think it’s tin or lead,” Arden informed them. “Grandfather had one; bought it from a man who used to work for Tolstoi. It had the stamp from what this man called the president’s factory, which meant, I believe, it was made in a sort of royal shop,” Arden concluded.
“Why, what a lot you know,” teased Sim. “Why didn’t you tell the artist? He might trace some relationship——”
“Oh, say!” interrupted Terry. “You and your old samovar! What about the jeweled box? Don’t you feel guilty to have seen a thing—so—well, so precious?”
This brought on a discussion so animated and so filled with questions and exclamations that the beauty of the snuffbox must have been greatly enhanced by so much young enthusiasm.
Afterwards they were sitting, as had become their custom, on the screened porch. The first one out always claimed the comfortable swing. Next in favor came two large, low wicker chairs covered with bright striped linen. Tonight Terry was in the swing and Arden and Sim curled up in chairs.
They must have been talking very loudly or else have been asleep, they facetiously decided later. How else could they explain the fact that a car had driven right up to the back door and they had not heard it?
In fact they all jumped with surprise when Arden called their attention to a young man, coming up the sandy path.