The girls, in chorus, protested that they couldn’t eat a mouthful.
“Well, I like that!” returned Alex. “As if we’d be filled up by a few berries.”
“A few berries? oh!” laughed Marjorie.
“They are soft and not filling,” answered Alex. “What do you think boys are made of, ma’am?”
“I know,” answered Cricket, quickly. “They are made like accordiums—to stretch out.”
“Accordions,” corrected Marjorie, with a laugh. “Oh, Cricket, you’re the worst child about long words!”
“I don’t care,” answered Cricket, comfortably. “People know what I mean.”
“Never mind, Spider,” said Alex, “you’re my friend, I see. Come and give this accordion something to stretch on.”
“I ought to remember that boys are hollow,” said Marjorie, straightening up, “after all my experience with Donald and Will and Archie Somers. Let’s go into the orchard near the old well. It’s always so cool there.”
When lunch was all spread it looked so tempting that the girls concluded that they could manage to eat a few mouthfuls, and before long there wasn’t a morsel of anything left. After luncheon they sat awhile under the dear old apple-trees, which were of the high, old-fashioned kind, so that the grass grew thick and soft beneath. The sunlight flecked the grass with gold, the sky was deeply blue, and a slight breeze had sprung up. Even the boys felt the quiet, peaceful beauty of the wide, old orchard, and were quite willing to rest for an hour, while Marjorie and her sisters told merry tales of their many escapades in dear old Kayuna.