Then nearly everybody began to talk at once, saying how much more sensible the ideals of education were to-day than when they were young, and more of such grown-up talk, which gave the boys and girls a chance to slip away to get the refreshments.
“How did you guess we were hungry?” asked Bob’s father as Mary Frances served the salad, and Eleanor passed the sandwiches in a dainty basket, trimmed with pink bows.
“Where did you find such beautiful lettuce and tomatoes, dear?” asked Grandma, showing her enjoyment of the treat.
“That’s part of the secret,” laughed Mary Frances. “After you’ve tested our vegetables, we’ll show you our vegetable garden.”
“Gee!” exclaimed Bob, “you don’t mean to say you raised these?”
“Everything’s from this garden except the ice-cream!” Eleanor asserted proudly.
“Some farmers!” Bob started to say, but his father interposed.
“You forget, son, that you’re in a formal social gathering—at a garden party, if you please.”
“Please pardon me,” Bob begged, bowing to the company.