“This is my father, Jean Riboux,” she said. “I’m Prudence.”
“My name is Wistmore,” replied Jack, shaking hands; “and these are my sisters, Desiré and Priscilla; and my little brother René.”
“Pleased to know you, both for yourselves and for old Simon,” responded the man, with unmistakable cordiality. “You must make free at our place, same as he did. Drive over, put up the team, and stay all night.”
Though Jack protested, the man would hear of no refusal, and ten minutes later they turned into a nearby farmyard. Jean took the horses away from Jack, and sent the Wistmores into the house to his wife who had come to the door to meet them.
“Your husband and daughter insisted upon our coming here for the night,” said Jack, after introductions had been made; “but I think it is entirely too much. There are so many of us—”
“There’s always a welcome here for any friends of old Simon’s,” was Mrs. Riboux’s quiet reply; “and we have plenty of room. We were sorry to hear of his bad luck; but then, it turned out well for you,” looking at the little family curiously.
“Yes, the opportunity to take the route came just as we were looking for something for the summer,” said Desiré, smiling shyly at their hostess.
“Oh, then you’re not goin’ to keep it regular?”
“That can not be decided,” contributed Jack, “until we see how things go.”
As they gathered around the table for supper, the boy who had told them about the Pie Social slid into one of the chairs and grinned at Desiré.