“Happy to meet you, Mr. Junior,” said the correct Mr. Thurbyfil. The boys laughed uproariously, and the rest all smiled, except Betty, who was grave and really seemed somewhat embarrassed.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Mr. Thurbyfil, this is Mr. Craigmile,” said Martha. “You introduced him as Mr. Junior, Betty.”
“I didn’t! Well, that’s because I’m bashful. Come on, everybody, mother’s in.” So they all climbed into the wagon and began to find their places.
“Oh, father, have you the matches? The bottles are on the kitchen table,” exclaimed Martha.
“Don’t get down, Mr. Ballard,” said Lucien. “I’ll get them. It would never do to forget the bottles. Now, where’s the little girl who was to ride beside me?” and Janey crawled across the hay and settled herself at her new friend’s side. “Now I think we are beautifully arranged,” for Martha was on his other side.
“Very well, we’re off,” and Bertrand gathered up the reins and they started.
“There they are. There’s the other wagon,” shouted Bobby. “We ought to have a flag to wave.”
Then Lucien, the correct, startled the party by putting his two fingers in his mouth and whistling shrilly.
“They have such a load I wish Clara could ride with us,” said Betty. “Peter Junior, won’t you get out and fetch her?”