“So you are, Rilly. Fetch that little wicker table over here and stand it near the couch. Then draw your chair and set opposite. Yo’re company today, just like a grand young lady, and yo’ve nothin’ to do but eat.”
Muriel went to the far end of the veranda to get the small wicker table, and when she turned she was amazed to see Miss Brazilla and Gene exchanging nods and smiles. What could it mean, the girl wondered.
The lunch was daintily served and Gene became so interested in his companion’s tales of storms and wrecks at sea, simply yet dramatically told, that he ate far more heartily than he would have done alone. Miss Brazilla made no comment, but she was secretly pleased.
Having cleared the table, she surprised Muriel by bringing in two dishes heaped with ice cream in which were preserved strawberries.
Gene Beavers was to pay a fabulous price for that out-of-season dessert, but when he saw the glad light dawning in the hazel eyes of his guest he decided it was well worth it.
“I only had ice cream once before,” she confessed, “an’ that was when Mis’ Sol had some left over that was like to melt.”
After lunch Muriel told her host that he ought to sleep a while, and, when she assured him that she could stay all afternoon, the truly weary lad consented to rest, while Rilla helped Miss Brazilla in the kitchen.
An hour later when the lad awakened, refreshed, he saw that Muriel was again in the comfortable wicker chair at his side, looking with great interest at the beautifully colored pictures in a large book that she held.
She glanced up glowingly when she heard a movement on the couch. “The readin’ in it is about the sea, I reckon, from the pictures of boats and pirates,” she told him.
“It is indeed,” Gene exclaimed with enthusiasm. “That’s Treasure Island. If you’ll prop me up more I’ll read to you, if you wish.”