"Think of that! And there it all is just waiting to be painted. Why, look here, David, how on earth did you ever get in to know there were pollywogs?"
"Oh," said David, "the folks were away."
"Well, I will wait then till they are all away! But, good heavens, what am I thinking about! The garden isn't what I want—it's the Lady in Pink." I began packing up my paints—there was no use trying to do anything more now.
"Well, at any rate, we will go down tomorrow," said I, wiping some brushes on my handkerchief, "and maybe in the meanwhile we can think up a way to get in."
"Oh, let's go now," suggested David, seeing that things were really moving.
"You mean it?" I asked, rather astonished at his sudden desire for action.
"All right, then! You fold up the camp stool and umbrella and I'll take the box and the pallet along with me."
"Dear me! What on earth now will we ever say when we get there?" I began on the way down the hill.
"We might ask for a glass of milk."
"Oh, no, we can't do that—it isn't in the country."