From her fancied security behind some spruces, Greta looked and wished that she were a part of the pleasure she saw. Then Jean, whisking back from the truck and machines by a shorter cut, almost ran into Greta, who rose, wide-eyed and startled.
“Oh!” exclaimed Jean. “Excuse me! I didn’t know any one was here. Did you want to see us?”
“I—I happened to come around the lake and I saw your cottage. I didn’t know any one was building here. Then,—then you all came—and you were having such a good time—and I just waited to go.”
“Do you live near here?”
“Not very near. It must be two miles around the shore.”
“This bay runs in so that it isn’t any wonder you’ve not seen the house. Come to see us some time. We’re just getting settled now and we’re going to be here most of the summer.”
Just then Grace French from the house called, “Jean, Jean!”
“I have to run,” said Jean, smiling at Greta. “Goodbye.”
Greta at once went farther back among the trees, making a wide circle to avoid the truck and machines; but she found a quiet, grassy spot in the woods at no great distance from the lane and there she sat down to read her book, eat her bread and cheese and listen sometimes to distant laughter.