“You don’t,—I get much redder,” said Lynn.
“I go purple, Miss Bibby says so,” said Muffie complacently.
“I go nearly lack in the face,” said Max.
It was possible that Pauline, who being ten was always superior, would have laid claim [p18] herself to some still darker shade of complexion but that a diversion occurred at the moment.
One or two people carrying golf clubs had passed along the monotonous road during the morning and Max had longed to be a caddie. Once a woodcutter had gone along with his axe over his shoulder and Lynn had been moved to recite—to the disgust of the others—“Woodman, spare that tree.” And once Larkin had flashed past on horseback, Howie tearing along not far behind, it having come to their ears five minutes before that a cottage far away through the bush was opened, its occupants having come up by the night train.
“When I grow up,” said Muffie enviously, “I’ll be a grocer’s boy.”
“An’ I’ll be the other one,” said Max, so filled with glorious visions suddenly that he forgot his original intention of coughing.
But now there came briskly round the corner one of the big Burunda wagonettes, overflowing with ladies and children and picnic baskets and plainly bound for the waterfall.
“Why,” said Lynn excitedly, “there are Effie and Florence.”
“And Frank,” cried Muffie joyously.