David took the ponies away to the farm, and the others carried the baskets down the rocky path into the bay. Lunch was, of course, the first consideration, and as Queenie set to work upon her sandwiches and cake, she looked across at Phil and said,—
“Why, we haven’t told Bertie about Uncle Fred!”
“What about him?” asked Bertie.
“Why, he’s landed in England—he and his wife, you know. They came one steamer before we expected. They’re in London now—at least they were last night. They stayed a few days there, and to-day they’re coming down to us. The house belongs to Uncle Fred now, you know, and we shall soon leave it. When we get home Uncle Fred will be there.”
“Yes, and a new aunt,” added Queenie, laughing; “it will seem so funny to have a new aunt. What did mamma say her name was? Wasn’t it Aunt Winifred?”
Bertie suddenly put up his hand to his head, as he used sometimes to do when he first came, but hardly ever now. Queenie noticed the movement, and paused to ask,—
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “What were you saying? Go on, please.”
“Well, it is not our house any longer, and we shall go very soon. Shall you mind?”
“I shall be sorry,” answered Bertie, slowly. “But I suppose you will come there sometimes?”