Evan Tudor straightened up from his work to look across at the two smiling girls. Introduction was impossible, but he raised his cap and smiled, standing “at attention,” Sarita said, till they were lost again among the green spruces and birches.
The girls reported to Beth what Dalton had said and preparations went on accordingly. The big fish were baking in the outdoor oven which Dalton had made. Beth was stirring up some blueberry muffins, to be baked in the oven of the “portable.”
“We were stunned, Beth,” said Sarita, “by the style and bearing of your latest conquest. Not to be conceited at all, he looks like our kind of folks. Let’s see, what’s that sweet poem?
“‘When I behold thy lovely face
‘Neath waves of burnished gold,’—what’s the rest of it, Les?”
“That’s all we ever did get, Sarita. Beth found us as we had just begun to read it off, Dal and I.”
Beth, her lips tightly pressed together to keep them from laughter, pretended to be deeply offended. “Such girls! Come, now, Leslie, get out a glass of that jelly we brought from home and finish up the table.”
“It’s serious, Sarita,” laughed Leslie, still teasing her sister. “She is giving him our precious jelly!”
“Don’t you really want to, Leslie?” Beth asked.
“Of course I do, silly. I know well enough that you are following Mother’s rule of the best for guests. Where are the rest of those linen napkins? I suppose you will use those this time.”