“I did,” Polly added, quickly. “Wait till we get settled down in the arbor, and I’ll tell you about it. That’s just about what has happened if she has Miss Murray on her trail.”
She led the way around the broad veranda, down the short flight of steps that led to the garden, and out to the arbor that stood on the terrace. Every one who loved Polly knew her garden, and the old arbor. It overlooked the river, and faced the sunset, and was thickly covered with rose vines. They were just leafing out now. The seats that encircled it were Polly’s private invention. Beneath them were lockers, in boat fashion, for cushions, books, hammocks, and all kinds of things which Polly found necessary to comfort or happiness when she took possession of the arbor.
“Let’s put up a couple of hammocks, girls,” she said. “Sue, you and Ted might do that, and Ruth and Isabel can set the table. I’m going to pick over strawberries while we talk. Aren’t they beauties? Stoney just got them for me out of the garden.”
The girls gathered around the rustic table for a peep at the generous-sized basket filled with red fruit, piled high in a nest of green leaves.
“Oh, let’s eat them that way, Polly,” Isabel cried. “They look so tempting and pretty.”
“Can’t,” said Polly, briefly. “Against orders. These are to be hulled, mashed, and sweetened.”
“Now, we know,” exclaimed Ted. “Short—”
“No fair telling.”
“But only think how poor Crullers would have loved a piece of it!”
“We’ll send her some. Yes, and girls,”—here Polly’s brown eyes twinkled with the merry glint of mischief,—“we’ll send Miss Murray a nice share too. To-night. I’ll take it to the Hall and find out what’s the matter with Crullers. Did we ever desert a comrade in distress?”