At that everyone laughed, even Mrs. Brown. So the meal began merrily and went on in the same happy way.
The conversation was mostly about the flower, fruit, and vegetable show which was to be held in the Vicarage grounds that day week. There was to be a prize for the prettiest bunch of wild flowers, for which May intended to compete. Billy said he would help her gather the flowers, but she shook her head.
"No one must help me," she said, "or it wouldn't be fair."
"Our marrows will grow a lot more in a week," remarked Billy. "I do hope one of us will get the prize, Harold."
"You mean you hope you will get it," laughed Harold.
"I meant what I said," Billy replied. "Grandfer says your marrow is a better shape than mine," he continued, "and that will be taken into consideration. I went around and looked at all the marrows in the allotment gardens yesterday, and there wasn't one to beat yours, though I did see one that came near doing it."
"Yes, I know," Harold answered; "it belongs to a man called Gibbs."
"Is that the Gibbs who was had up for poaching last winter?" inquired Mrs. Brown. "Yes. I should have thought he was too idle to have a garden."
"He doesn't keep it in good condition," Harold explained; "it's generally full of weeds; but, somehow, he's managed to grow good marrows this year, and he's mighty proud of them."
Shortly after tea Mrs. Dingle went home, accompanied by her children and Billy.