In an hour Berty was back again, part of her supper in her pocket.
Contentedly eating her bread and butter, she sat on a bench watching the children, most of whom absolutely refused to go home, while others ran merely for a few mouthfuls of something to eat.
This intoxication of play in a roomy place was a new experience to them, and Berty, with an intensely thankful face, watched them until a heavy footstep made her turn her head.
The Mayor stood before her, two red spots on his cheeks, and a strange light in his eye. “I’ve just been to your house,” he said, “and your grandmother sent me here.”
“Did she?” said Berty; then she added, promptly, “What has happened?”
Mr. Jimson heaved a deep, contented sigh, and seated himself beside her. “I’m a happy man, Miss Berty.”
“What are you happy about?” she asked, briskly. “It isn’t—it isn’t Miss Everest?”
“Yes, it is Miss Everest,” said Mr. Jimson. “Something took place this afternoon.”
“Oh, what?—why don’t you tell me? You’re terribly slow.”
“I’m as fast as I can be. I’m not a flash of lightning.”