"The sun's gone under a cloud," called Grandpa cheerily over his shoulder, as he came into the dining room.
Grandma, following close behind, answered laughingly, "Why, my dear, this is the brightest day we've had for two weeks!"
"But look at Don's face," said Grandpa soberly, "and Joyce's too, for that matter"—glancing from one to the other.
"Children, children," said Grandma kindly, "do tell us what is wrong."
No answer.
"Only," said Daddy at last, "that they are thinking about next summer."
Grandpa threw back his white head, then, and laughed his loud, hearty laugh. "You little trouble-borrowers," he cried, "worrying about next summer! Why, only day before yesterday was Christmas; and by the looks of the dolls, and trains, and picture-books lying all over the house—"
"But, Grandpa," said Don in a small voice, trying not to cry, "summer will be here before we know it—you said so this morning yourself; and Daddy says he's going north on a fishing trip—"
"—And so," added Joyce sorrowfully, "Don and I can't go to the farm and stay with you as we did last year, and the year before last, and every year since we can remember."
Joyce looked anxiously from one face to another. Daddy's eyes were twinkling. Mother looked rather sorry, and so did Grandma. But she knew at once, by the look on Grandpa's face that he understood. He only nodded his white head wisely. "I see," he said. And some way, after that, Joyce felt that it would come out all right.