Maida could only repeat feebly, “But of course there’s going to be a next summer. It never occurred to me to tell you so. I thought you understood.”
“Not only a next summer, but next summers,” a voice said back of them.
They all started and then jumped to their feet. Mr. Westabrook, coming in very quietly, had apparently caught much of their discussion.
“A whole line of summers, all in a row,” he added as he took the easy chair which Arthur pushed into the middle of the circle for him. He helped himself to popcorn from the plate which Rosie filled and placed in his lap; took one of the apples which Laura offered him; a piece of the molasses candy which Tyma pressed upon him. “You’ve got a permanent engagement with us every summer.”
Again Rosie did what Dicky had threatened to do—she jumped up and down. Laura danced the whole length of the room, turning out one after another a series of the most beautiful pirouettes. Silva did not move except to lean forward and stare intently at Mr. Westabrook. The boys drew their chairs in a circle closer about him.
“So you don’t think schools are very interesting?” Buffalo Westabrook went on, bending his eagle glance on Arthur.
“Not any I have ever been to,” Arthur answered promptly.
“Do you think they could be made interesting?” Mr. Westabrook went on.
“I’m not sure they could,” Arthur answered.
But Rosie broke in with an impulsive, “Of course they could.”