The little man, however, was serious. For a time he ate with great deliberation and revolved an interesting thought in his mind.
"Years ago." said he, "I lived in a country town; and I love the smell of the meadows and the hum of the bees in the orchards. Any orchards at my farm, Major?"
"Don't know, sir."
"Pretty soon," continued Uncle John, "it's going to be dreadfully hot in
New York, and we'll have to get away."
"Seashore's the place," remarked the Major. "Atlantic City, or
Swampscott, or—"
"Rubbish!" growled the other man, impatiently. "The girls and I have just come from Europe. We've had enough sea to last us all this season, at least. What we pine for is country life—pure milk, apple trees and new mown hay."
"We, Uncle?" said Patsy.
"Yes, my dear. A couple of months on the farm will do all of my nieces good. Beth is still with Louise, you know, and they must find the city deadly dull, just now. The farm's the thing. And the Major can run up to see us for a couple of weeks in the hot weather, and we'll all have a glorious, lazy time."
"And we can take Mary along to do the cooking," suggested Patsy, entering into the idea enthusiastically.
"And eat in our shirt-sleeves!" said Uncle John, with a glowing face.