And when some stray traveler calls out a hail,
Upon the bleak nightwind is borne back a wail.”
“I think you made that up, Ruth,” Polly cried, merrily. “Is the Lady Kathleen blonde or brunette, grandfather dear?”
“I should say she was rather sorrel,” remarked the Admiral judicially. “But I strongly advise this board of lady managers to discover her identity, and gather her into your circle. I can usually tell a thoroughbred, can’t I, Polly?”
“What color are her eyes, Admiral Page?” asked Isabel.
“Bless my heart, child, I did not get near enough for that. But if you will watch the river road about five any Friday afternoon, you will find her. Now, I must go and dress for dinner.”
“How can we find out who she is?” asked Isabel, when the Admiral left them for his late stroll by the river. “I don’t know anybody around Queen’s Landing that looks like that.”
“We’ll ask Miss Calvert on Monday,” Ruth declared. “She knows everybody who is anybody in this vicinity, and their pedigree back to the days when the first English ship sailed into Jamestown harbor. We must be going, Polly, and your shortcake was dandy. Next Friday it is my treat, girls. Don’t forget.”
Polly walked with them to the tall green hedge that separated Glenwood from the road, and waved good-bye. Then she hurried back to the arbor, and called Stoney up from the garden.
“I want the little green basket, Stoney, and a nice fresh pitcher of whipped cream, and then you and I will go for a walk up to the Hall.”