“Never,” came back the swift and hearty chorus, just as Stoney came down the walk from the kitchen garden.
CHAPTER II
A SHORTCAKE PARLEY
He smiled a broad welcome at Miss Polly’s guests, as he set down the tray from his head, and uncovered the contents, his brown face fairly glistening with importance.
“Whipped cream in de blue jug, Mis’ Polly, and—and sho’tcake in de deep dish, and gran’maw says you’re to eat it while it’s hot.”
“We will, Stoney,” promised Polly. “Now, girls, gaze on this.”
Back went the snowy linen towel, and there lay disclosed to view one of Aunty Welcome’s famous three-layer shortcakes, all ready for the “fillin’s,” as Stoney would say. It was hot and crisp from the oven. The girls spread the layers with the berries and piled them up.
“I just love this kind of shortcake,” said Ted, as she poured cream from the blue jug over the cake. “Sometimes it’s only plain layer cake with some whole berries laid on the frosting.”
“I knew you’d like it.” Polly leaned her arms on the table with a happy disregard of formalities. As Aunty Welcome had expressed it once, “Dar’s a little laxity permissible in yo’ own backyard, honey chile.” Polly went on. “I wish Crullers were here, too. What new scrape do you suppose she has managed to tumble into?”
“The last one isn’t cold yet,” laughed Ted. “She was sorry for a stray cat, and smuggled it up to the dormitory, and hid it in the closet there. Then Annie May, the cook, gave her some milk for it, and she took that up when she went to bed. But the closet had a spring lock, and Crullers couldn’t open it. Tableau at ten o’clock. Miss Calvert roused: appears in nightgown and kimono, hair in crimpers, dangling a bunch of keys like Fatima. When closet is opened, poor kitty is scared out of its wits, makes a flying leap past the girls, out the nearest window, and disappears. Annie May says she doesn’t believe it was a cat at all. She says it must have been something with an unquiet spirit.”