She sat down beside Rosemary who kept fast hold of Shirley lest she start an exploring tour of her own.
"Where's the Kitty girl?" asked Shirley frankly.
As she spoke a stream of children poured out of the house—or it seemed like a stream, though when they were counted they were but four. Each and every one of them had light hair and blue eyes like Alec and Louisa, all were tanned and freckled and all were shouting madly. The youngest was a baby, the oldest a year or so older than Sarah. Two were boys and two girls.
"Jim, Ken, Kitty and June," said Alec glibly. "For goodness' sake, do keep still," he admonished the children. "Can't you see we have company?"
Richard, who evidently felt at home, had gone on into the kitchen with the pail of water and came out in time to hear Alec's remark.
"We're not company," he said quickly. "We're neighbors."
Shirley, after staring a few seconds at Kitty, began to talk to her as though she were an old friend. Sarah went over to look at the cow and Jim and Ken followed her. The baby, June, climbed into Rosemary's lap and sat quietly there.
"She never goes to strangers," marveled Louisa, leaning over to straighten out the crumpled little skirts. "Look Alec, she likes her."
Alec was looking and so was Richard. Rosemary made a pretty picture there in the sunlight, her lovely vivid face turned to Louisa, her arms about the tousled little figure on her knees.
"It's so nice to have a girl of my own age to talk to," Louisa said appreciatively. "I never have time to go down to town any more and I don't see the girls I used to know."