“It’s too bad you and the children couldn’t have had it.”
“Well, I don’t know. I never fret much over what has to be. Maybe this boy Ralph is all right. He’s my nephew, but I’ve never seen him. His father was a claim settler out in Oregon first off, when Cousin France married him. We called her that. Her name was Francelia. Good stock, I guess. I wish Buzzy could know him, he’s so set on being a rancher. I suppose settling and ranching’s about the same thing?”
“Not quite,” Mrs. Craig told her. Then came a chat about her own father’s ranch in California, and when Sally came back after her mother, she found her animated and interested over Buzzy’s future.
Kit and Etoile were arranging a jam session for alternate Saturday afternoons, the ones between to be given up to tennis and basketball. Those who couldn’t dance would be taught by the others. Ingeborg and Astrid and Hedda Hagerstrom stood listening and agreeing with shining eyes and eager faces. Hedda was short and strong-looking, with the bluest eyes possible and heavy blonde braids. She stared at Kit with wide-eyed wonder, Kit radiant and joyous in a yellow chambray sun-back dress, with a sprig of rambler roses in her hair.
“You’ll come, won’t you, Hedda?” she asked. “And bring any other girls over your way.”
“There’s only Abby over my way. We live on the same road.”
“Then bring Abby, but tell her to wear old shoes. We ought to find enough girls to make up a good team out here.”
“Do you like hikes?” asked Lucy Peckham. “I think it would be fun to have a hiking club, and each week tramp away off somewhere. There’s ever so many places I want to see.”
“It’s a good idea, Lucy,” Sally exclaimed.
The crowd began to break up and the Craigs stood on the porch saying goodbye to everyone. It was after twelve before the last car had driven away. Tommy was found sound asleep in the living room on the couch. Jean and Doris hunted in the grass for lost spoons and ice cream saucers.