“I was going to ask you if you can loan me a few tools,” replied the man, “but I did not like to call you away till you had finished your lunch.”
“Oh, that is no matter,” and Philip went down hill to find one or two small implements that the man told him he lacked. “Just leave them on the step,” said Philip, “when you are through.”
“Funny looking customer,” remarked Campbell, when Philip came back.
“He was real polite, though,” said Betty.
“Do you suppose he will put the tools back?” asked Mrs. Van Buskirk.
“I guess so. He had almost everything he needed himself. His tire seems to be punctured and he is fixing it up.”
“Why doesn’t he put on a new one?” inquired Cathalina.
“Possibly he hasn’t any, or wants to be economical. Shall I go down and ask him?”
“You seem to be getting sarcastic, Philly,” was Cathalina’s comment. “I don’t blame you, though. Who can eat this last ear of corn? Going, going—gone!” and Cathalina put it on Philip’s picnic plate. “We ate more while you were gone. Now it’s time for pie. Mother, there’s more coffee for you, and, Lilian, you positively must finish up this marmalade you like. Campbell, can’t you eat another cookie? A New England cookie? a spice cookie? a crisp brown cookie?”
“Sounds like lines from the ‘Old Oaken Bucket,’” said Campbell, “but if I am to eat a piece of apple pie, I must positively refuse to take anything else. The ‘little birdies’ will eat it, Cousin. Lilian, can’t you compose an ode to ‘The Last Cookie’?”