“My gracious! do you expect me to eat a second piece of pie?” cried Billie, glancing up at Mrs. Danvers, with a smile.
“A second piece of pie isn’t very much for a young girl with a healthy appetite,” returned the lady of the bungalow.
“You give her too much pie, and she’ll be dreaming of all sorts of things,” remonstrated Vi.
“Why, Vi! To talk that way when you are eating a second piece yourself!” broke in Laura.
“If we dream, perhaps we’ll all dream together, so what’s the difference?” remarked Billie; and at this there was a laugh in which even Mr. Danvers joined.
After dinner Connie’s mother sent them up to their rooms, saying that she knew they must be tired to death and should go to bed early so they could get up to see the sun rise the next morning.
They did not protest very much, for they were tired and the prospect of bed was very alluring. To-morrow—well, to-morrow they would go exploring. Perhaps they might even be permitted to visit the lighthouse and Uncle Tom. Speaking of Uncle Tom made Billie think of the clam chowder, and although she could not have eaten another scrap if she had tried, her mouth watered at the memory.
The girls left the connecting door open between the two rooms so that they could talk to each other if they wanted to, but they did not do very much talking that night.
“Oh, this feels good,” sighed Billie, as Connie turned down the covers and she crawled thankfully into bed. “I didn’t know I was so awfully tired. And that dinner! Connie, does your mother always serve dinners like that?”
“Yes,” said Connie, flinging her thick braid over her shoulder and crossing the room to turn out the light. “Mother’s an awfully good cook, and although we have a maid to do the heavy work Mother does all the cooking herself.”