“Mr. Hugh?” hesitated Anne, scarcely realizing that he should be unknown to any one. “Why, Mr. Hugh is a very nice man, but quite old, almost thirty. He owns all the land between Miss Jule’s and Squire Burley’s; he’s big and dark brown, that is, his hair and eyes and mustache are, and mostly his clothes and gaiters; and he grows dogs and horses too, and writes books about the things that smell queer and poison you—chemistry, you know. He has a stone house that’s as strong as a castle, and all the furniture is plain and the chairs are leather, for he hates all kinds of rags hanging to chairs and things like that. He likes pictures and flowers, though, and he gave me my ‘Horse Fair’ print last birthday. He has strawberries in his cold-frame that are nearly ripe, I saw them last week. I do believe he is bringing some to Miss Jule now, for he has a basket. Mr. Hugh doesn’t like young ladies, but only children and people like mother and Miss Jule. But he will be very polite, so you needn’t be afraid of him,” she added, as she saw Miss Letty hesitate and look as if she was going to run away.
As Anne said, Mr. Hugh had brought a basket of delicious strawberries, which Miss Jule handed over to Letty and Anne to arrange for the table, saying, “They are so big you must leave the hulls on and lay them on fresh leaves.”
“I will do it,” said Miss Letty, giving Anne a little push toward the door. “I know that you are longing to see the new horse.”
This was true, and Anne finally, after some difficulty, persuaded Mr. Hugh to accept Miss Jule’s invitation to luncheon, pleading to try the new horse over the little hedge afterward, as Mr. Hugh said he was broken to side-saddle, and a fine jumper.
The luncheon table looked very pretty with Letty’s flower decorations and little vines laid on the cloth, and all went well, Mr. Hugh being less shy than usual. When the strawberries came, they certainly looked very tempting, lying on a bed of leaves, on green glass plates, with a mound of sugar on the side of each to dip them in.
Miss Jule, who was near-sighted, began eating hers, and Mr. Hugh followed in an absent-minded sort of way, for he was talking pasture and other interesting things to his hostess.
Suddenly Anne gave a loud exclamation and then stopped, flushing scarlet in embarrassment.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Hugh, “a bee in the berries?”
“No; but—but—the green leaves under the berries are poison ivy, and you know you poison dreadfully and so does Miss Jule. Oh, and the vines around the table edge are poison too. I didn’t notice at first, the leaves are so small and young.”