The rumpus that always followed the boys’ arrival was in full sway, Jack and Ed chasing Bess around the bungalow to make her give up an imaginary lost scarf pin, while Dray and Walter contented themselves with the less violent exercise of rocking on the front porch, where the other girls were scattered. They certainly were “scattered,” for there was so much to tell and hear of the afternoon’s adventure that each girl chose her own listener and her own corner.
Everyone seemed deeply absorbed in this when Freda appeared at the door with the warning bell. That meant that in five minutes the tea bell would ring—only it was going to be dinner to-night.
“That sounds fine,” Dray told Freda, who in her blue linen sailor suit looked quite as well as the young ladies who put in most of their time “leisuring.” “Our Belle is not nearly as aristocratic as that.”
“I hope dinner will bear out the reputation,” Freda replied, a bit shyly, for Dray was somewhat of a stranger to her.
“Dinner will make that reputation immortal,” Jack declared, as he and Ed gave up their chase and joined the others on the porch. “But hello! Here comes Denny! And he has no pipe! Something surely is wrong.”
Everyone ceased chattering as Denny Shane appeared on the tan bark path.
“Hello, there, Denny!” called Jack, getting up from his porch chair. “What’s up?”
“A-plenty,” answered Denny with a sweep of his cap that took everyone in the greeting. “Where’s the Widder Lewis?”
“Oh, what’s the matter, Denny?” asked Freda, aghast. “Can’t you tell me first? You know how weak mother is.”
“’Tis nothing bad,” replied Denny, as he sat down on the bottom step of the porch, in spite of all invitations to come up and have a chair. He settled his cap more securely on his gray head. “I just want to—tell her something.”