“And it’s nice of you to go.”
“I see Peter Junior. He’s coming,” shouted Bobby, from the top of the sweet-apple tree.
“Who does he go with?” asked Martha.
“With us. He always does,” said Betty. “I wonder why his mother and the Elder never go out for any fun, the way you and father do!”
“The Elder always has to be at the bank, I suppose,” said Mary Ballard, “and she wouldn’t go without him. Did you put in the salt and pepper for the eggs, dear?”
“Yes, mother. I’m glad father isn’t a banker.”
“It takes a man of more ability than I to be a banker,” said Bertrand, laughing, albeit with concealed pride.
“We don’t care if it does, Dad,” said Jamie, patronizingly. “When I get through the high school, I’m going to hire out to the bank.” He seized the lunch basket and marched manfully out to the wagon.
“I thought Peter Junior always went with Clara Dean. He did when I left,” said Martha, in a low voice to Betty, as they filled bottles with raspberry shrub, and with cream for the coffee. “Did you tie strings on the spoons, dear? They’ll get mixed with the Walters’ if you don’t. You remember theirs are just like ours.”
“Oh, I forgot. Why, he likes Clara a lot, of course, but I guess they just naturally expected him to go with us. 117 They and the Walters have a wagon together, anyway, and they wouldn’t have room. We have one all to ourselves. Hello, Peter Junior! Mr. Thurbyfil, this is Mr. Junior.”