They discussed the new plan with great gusto. Billy was for making a huge mystery out of it all, like the meeting of some secret society. He proposed smuggling a luncheon out of the Carpenter and Baker pantries and to keep the spot they were to visit a secret. But Christopher did not see the charm of this. He preferred to tell straight out that the three boys wished to go on a picnic. He knew that he would have a much better time if he “had it out” plainly with Jane, instead of slipping away from her, and that Huldah would certainly put up a much better lunch—if she were asked politely—than he and Billy could ever get together by stealth. The swimming was the only part of the programme he did not care to discuss openly.
“Well, we’ll do it as soon as we can,” he concluded, as they reached Mr. Parsons’ gate. “I’ll send you word by Perk when he comes in for the mail, or mebbe you’d better ride out to the farm on your bike and we’ll talk it over.”
“All right,” replied Billy, lingering a moment as Christopher walked up the path. “I can go any time. I don’t have to scheme to get away from the girls.”
With which parting thrust he vaulted the fence into his own garden. He would have liked to be invited to the tea-party, too, but Christopher never dreamed of suggesting such a thing. He believed that Billy was laughing at him for joining the girls and his cheeks grew very red. He stopped and for a moment was tempted to turn back and sit on the fence with Bill, and talk of swimming, baseball and other manly topics until his grandmother was ready to go home. But just then he looked around—he had reached the corner of the house—and caught sight of the white-covered table, loaded with goodies. He went on.
[CHAPTER XII—LETTY SINGS A LULLABY]
After the lemonade had all been drunk and most of the cakes eaten—for not even Christopher’s best efforts could quite empty the many plates—Letty offered to go back to her storytelling. She sat down on the grass with her back against a tree trunk and the twins curled themselves up contentedly on each side. Little Anna Parsons sat silent at her feet.
“Why are your stories always about people or fairies who sing beautifully?” asked Christopher unexpectedly, after Letty had related two or three tales of her own invention. “Do you sing, Letty?”
“I should like to. Oh, how I should like to!” sighed Letty, clasping her hands.
“Sing something to us now,” commanded Jane.
“I only know one or two songs,” replied Letty shyly, “and they are old songs. I think you children must know them already. I was never taught to sing,” she added quickly.