Here Miss Dorothea, returning from the shelter of the caves, found them and went with them up Main Street to the carpenter’s, where they gave the order for the boxes to be made, painted green, and delivered on Monday without fail.
At the green-grocer’s they ordered good soil for the new garden and sturdy little wall-flower plants full of tightly closed buds. Here, too, Miss Margaret bought Californian oranges, and paid for rosy-cheeked apples to be sent with the soil and plants on Monday.
“Now then, home and tea,” she ordered; but at the cobbler’s window she stopped.
“He lodges with my Aunt Martha,” volunteered Tommy.
But the Blue Lady was not thinking of the cobbler, whose form could be dimly descried through the screen of hanging laces, patches of leather and cards of boot-protectors with which the window was dressed.
“It’s Friday to-day,” she said, impressively.
“Why shouldn’t we have it to-morrow?”
“Have what?” asked Miss Dorothea. “What are you talking about?”
“Why, the pony and trap, of course,” and Miss Margaret pointed to a little card in a corner pane, on which was unevenly printed:
PONY AND GINGLE ON HIRE