He again touched his very shabby hat, whipped up the pony, and disappeared down the avenue.
“Now, then,” said Briar, “how are we to pass the next two hours? It will take them quite that time to get here.”
“And what are we going to give her to eat when she does come?” said Patty. “She’ll be awfully hungry. I expect she’ll want her dinner.”
“Dinner!” cried Josephine. “Dinner! So late. But we dine at one.”
“You silliest of silly mortals,” said Verena, “Aunt Sophia is a fashionable lady, and fashionable ladies dine between eight and nine o’clock.”
“Do they?” said Josephine. “Then I’m glad I’m not a fashionable lady. Fancy starving all that long time! I’m always famished by one o’clock.”
“There’s Penelope!” suddenly said Patty. “Doesn’t she look odd?”
Penelope was a very stout child. She had black eyes and black hair. Her hair generally stood upright in a sort of halo round her head; her face was very round and rosy—she looked like a kind of hard, healthy winter-apple. Her legs were fat, and she always wore socks instead of stockings. Her socks were dark blue. Nurse declared that she could not be fashed with putting on white ones. She wore a little Turkey-red frock, and she had neither hat nor coat on. She was going slowly and thoughtfully round the lawn, occasionally stooping and picking something.
“She’s a perfect mystery,” said Pauline. “Let’s run up to her and ask her what she’s about.”
Catching Patty’s hand, the two girls scampered across the grass.