“We can stop at my house and ask Ben to go with us,” Alice said. “He had to hurry home from school to do errands for mamma, but I think he will have them finished now. He knows all the dogs, and they all know him.”
A few moments’ walk took the Club into Berkeley Avenue, a long, wooded road curving ahead. Soon the surroundings grew more and more country-like. The road ran past wide farm-fields and comfortable homes with lazy cows standing in the barn-yards and busy hens scratching in the deserted gardens. Along the roadside, tall oak and chestnut trees met in noble arches; all around was the faint rustle of dried leaves and the soft swaying of bending branches.
“How far is it to where we are going?” asked Betty, impatiently, turning to Alice.
“It’s a half-mile from my house,” answered Alice, “and we are almost to my house. It’s that little one with a lot of windows.”
“We have come more than a half-mile,” said Miss Ruth, “so it must be Betty’s turn to carry the straw bag.”
Betty took the bag, and darted along the road, here and there, to the great risk of the lunch.
They were soon in front of the small wooden house, well back from the road, and having a great many windows full of flowers. Ben, with his shirt-sleeves rolled up, was splitting kindling-wood at the side of the house. He came running down to meet them.
“Going to the Convalescing Home? Yes, I can go, too,” he said, pulling down his shirt-sleeves. “I’ve done the errands, and was splitting kindlings just for fun.”
“Won’t you please come into my house, Miss Ruth?” asked Alice, shyly. “Mamma said she wanted the Club to meet here sometime. She would like to see you now, I know.”
“We will come, sometime, Alice; thank you,” replied Miss Ruth, “but not to-day. We have to be back home before dark.”