“How silly of me! I am SUCH a goose;” and Miss Ellery gurgled as she hid her face behind her red parasol.
“Ask about the fish-fry,” whispered Mr. Fred, putting his head behind the rosy screen to assure the pretty creature that he didn't know any better himself.
“Oh yes, I will!” and, quite consoled, Miss Ellery called out, “Girl, will you tell me if we can have chowder-parties on your rocks as we used to a few seasons ago?”
“If you bring your own fish. Grandpa is sick and can't get 'em for you.”
“We will provide them, but who will cook them for us? It's such horrid work.”
“Any one can fry fish! I will if you want me to;” and Ruth half smiled, remembering that this girl who shuddered at the idea of pork and a hot frying-pan, used to eat as heartily as any one when the crisp brown cunners were served up.
“Very good; then we'll engage you as cook, and come over to-night if it's clear and our fishing prospers. Don't forget a dozen of the finest lilies for this lady to-morrow morning. Pay you now, may not be up;” and Mr. Fred dropped a bright silver dollar into the basket with a patronizing air, intended to impress this rather too independent young person with a proper sense of inferiority.
Ruth quietly shook the money out upon the door-mat, and said with a sudden sparkle in her black eyes,—
“It's doubtful if I bring any more. Better wait till I do.”
“I'm sorry your grandfather is sick. I'll come over and see him by-and-by, and bring the papers if he would like some,” said the elderly gentleman as he came up with a friendly nod and real interest in his face.