“There you are. Off you go! Have a care!” warned Polly.
“Oh! keep still, you bird. Listen, Mary Jane. You know I’m going to the country, don’t you? We all are, just as soon as I get well.”
“Yes. I think it will be just lovely for you.”
“For you, too, you go with me and—find him!” almost shouted Bonny-Gay.
“Oh! you darling! Might I?”
“Course. Why shouldn’t you? My father owns a lot of country. Ever and ever so much. He has so much he says it’s a sin and shame it isn’t doing anybody any good. But he’s too busy to tend to it himself and he can’t trust many folks. They would waste his money, dreadful. There’s our big house and park, and all the gardens and things; and then there are fields and fields and fields. Miles of them, I guess. Just as like as not he’s gone around there some place. Just supposing! If he has, why, pooh! You could find him in a minute. Oh! you must go with me and look. It won’t be so long, maybe. If this old leg would only get itself well. I love the country. It’s all out-doors there.”
Mary Jane said nothing, but her face was rapturous with anticipation. Finally, Bonny-Gay announced:
“I guess that’s all settled, then. There’s nothing to do about it only ask our folks. Let’s make believe things. Let’s pretend we had all the money in the world and could do just what we wanted to with it; what would you do, first?”
“Why, I wouldn’t dare think. ’Cause it couldn’t ever come true, you know.”
“Supposing it couldn’t? The things that don’t come true are the sweetest things there are, I think. You begin.”