"Yes, it is beautiful," he replied, scanning the cheery, wrinkled face. "Any town should consider it a great privilege to have such an institution within its borders. Mrs. Milworth—or June Holiday, as she preferred to be called—was a wonderful woman. I am glad to be in a position to help in the carrying-out of her plans."
Miss Sterling smiled a little queerly. Polly opened her lips, then shut them tight, and finally announced quite irrelevantly that she was hungry.
One of Mrs. Dudley's prettiest tablecloths was spread on a little piney level close to the brook, and Polly set out the paper plates and cups and the boxes of food.
"Which do you like best, Mr. Randolph, coffee or chocolate?" Polly queried anxiously.
"I will answer as a little boy of my acquaintance did,—'Whichever you have the most of.'"
"Well, you see, we have only one, and I do hope you don't like coffee best."
"I don't!" he declared. "I always drink chocolate when I can get it."
"I'm glad I brought it, then!" cried Polly. "You cut the cake, please, Miss Nita. I'm afraid I couldn't do it straight."
The little feast was ready at last, appetites were found to be of the keenest sort, and everything went merrily.
"I have never had the pleasure of a meal at the Home,"—Mr. Randolph was eating a Banbury turnover with plain enjoyment. "I suppose you ladies are treated to this sort of thing every day."