“Did Mother tell you?” asked Sunny Boy, as Daddy swung him into his chair and Harriet brought in the soup to Mrs. Horton. “When did you find out, Daddy? I was watching for you so’s I could tell.”
“I didn’t see any little chap in the hall, so I went right upstairs and found Mother. She said you were going to Brookside, and that the awnings were up, and the screens in, and she hoped to go downtown to-morrow and buy your best shoes,” and Daddy looked at Mother and laughed.
“Daddy is teasing me,” smiled Mrs. Horton. “We have to tell him our news all in one breath because we see so little of him, don’t we, Sunny Boy? I do hope, Harry, that you’ll be able to come up this summer and spend a real vacation at your father’s.”
Mr. Horton was making a little well in the mashed potato on Sunny’s plate, and flooding it with the rich brown gravy. That was the way his father had fixed his mashed potato for him when he was a little boy, and Sunny Boy liked his that way, too.
“Oh, I’ll come up,” promised Mr. Horton, passing the potato to Sunny Boy. “I’ll have to come and show you both where I had my garden and teach Sunny how to fool the wise fish.”
Sunny Boy put down his fork. He had to wait a minute because his mouth was full and Mother had her own opinion of a little boy who spoke without chewing his food properly and swallowing it. Having swallowed his potato, Sunny Boy was ready to speak.
“Oh, Daddy!” he began eagerly, “were you ever at Brookside? Where was your garden? Could I drive horses?”
Then Daddy and Mother said the same thing together, both at once, just as if they were thinking the same thing, as they probably were:
“Why, Sunny Boy!” said Daddy and Mother.
“You can’t have forgotten,” urged Mrs. Horton, then. “Brookside, you know, dear, is where Daddy lived when he was a little boy. When he was just as old as you are now he used to play there were Indians in the woods. I’ve told you ever so many times, and now you are going to see the place yourself where Daddy was a little lad like you.”