“There’ll be Gypsy a la Reine one of these fine Sundays,” Kit prophesied darkly, but Tommy begged for her life. In fact, whenever chicken was on the bill-of-fare Tommy always begged off any of his flock from execution, and Buzzy had to go to one of the neighboring farms and buy one.
“It seems so awful to eat a chicken that you’re well-acquainted with,” Tommy explained. “And another thing, Mom, did you know that the boys set traps around? Not now, but in the fall. At least, I think it’s in the fall. I had Buzzy paint me some signs on shingles and I’m going to put them all over the place.”
“What do they say, dear?”
“They say just this.” Tommy’s tone was full of firmness and decision. “Any traps set on this property will be sprung by ME.”
“Do they state who ‘Me’ is?”
“I signed it with Dad’s name, and put underneath ‘Per T.’”
The screen door slammed and Kit walked into the living room from the porch. “Good night, everybody,” she said. “The night is yet young, but I’ve promised Buzzy—or rather, Buzzy and I have a bet that I can’t get up at five and help weed the garden. And we bet my tennis racket against five of Buzzy’s records. Don’t anyone call me, because it’s got to be fair.”
Doris and Tommy decided that they were sleepy too, and the three went upstairs together, leaving Jean and her mother to read in the big living room. Presently Mrs. Craig glanced up and saw that the book lay idle on Jean’s lap, and she was looking down at the wood fire that burned on the old fireplace.
“What is it, dear?” she asked. “Tired?”
Jean shook her head, and smiled. “No, country life doesn’t tire me. I love it even though I am lonesome for my old friends. I think I’ll go over to Sally’s tomorrow and see if she’ll take me to meet some of the young people.” Jean dangled her legs over the arm of the chair and studied her scuffed saddle shoes. “If they are all as nice as Buzzy and Sally they must be swell.”