IVY'S FRIEND
In the middle of the afternoon as Ivy sat alone on a bench beneath a tree, listening to the band and watching the children circling merrily round a number of maypoles, she heard a voice at her side:
"Excuse me, but may I have part of your seat?"
"Why, certainly!" she said, making room for the speaker, a middle-aged man with genial blue eyes and a blonde beard, who was dressed in an easy-fitting, light suit, and carried a large book which he placed with his hat on the grass at his feet.
"I guess he's a friend of the housekeeper's; I noticed him speaking with her to-day," thought Ivy, her gaze straying back to the light-footed dancers.
"It looks easy, twirling those ribbons around the poles, but isn't it rather warm weather, for dancing?"
Ivy turned upon him a pair of eyes full of pity for his ignorance.
"Why, it would be lovely! I'm sure I'd never think of the heat if—" she glanced eloquently at the crutches which leaned against the tree.
"It's too bad, at a time like this especially; I shouldn't like that either! Though my dancing days are past, I like to walk a lot and gather 'yarbs an' things,'" he said. Taking up the big black book, he displayed a collection of pressed plants, leaves and flowers, in which Ivy took so much interest that he showed her through the book, explaining the value and rarity of his treasures gathered from many places, and relating incidents connected with his travels in search of them.
Ivy gave a sigh of admiration.