“Oh, you are to bring him his good clothes, are you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Gwynne and I are taking them down in the carriage.”
“Oh, in the carriage—Mrs. Gwynne—”
“Yes, you know—Oh, here's Nora at the door. Excuse me, Papa. I am sure it is important.”
She ran to the door and in a moment or two returned with a note. “It's for you, Papa, and I know it's about the carriage.” She watched her father somewhat anxiously as he read the note.
“Umm-um. Very good, very nice and proper. Certainly. Just say to Mrs. Gwynne that we are very pleased to be able to serve her with the carriage, and that we hope Larry will do us the honour of coming to us.”
Jane nodded delightedly. “I know, Papa. I told her that already. But I'll tell her this is the answer to the note.”
Under Jane's direction and care they made their visit to the car, but on their return no Larry was with them. He would come after the picnic and baseball game tomorrow, perhaps, but not to-night. His mother was plainly disappointed, and indeed a little hurt. She could not understand her son. It was not his clothes after all as she had thought. She pondered over his last words spoken as he bade her farewell at the car door, and was even more mystified.
“I'll be glad when we get to our own place again,” he said. “I hate to be beholden to anybody. We're as good as any of them anyway.” The bitterness in his tone mystified her still more.
It was little Jane who supplied the key to the mystery. “I don't think he likes Tom very much,” said the little girl. “He likes Hazel, though. But he might have come to our house; I did not laugh.” And then the mother thought she understood.