“We want to have Rose to-day,” said Dick, between mouthfuls. “I want her to go up to the brook. There’s a marsh there, and Drosera—oh, lots! It’s far north for it, too.”
“What is Drosera, Dicky?”
“Fly-trap; and there are some purple orchids.”
“For this once I will compromise,” said Anne. “I want to see Archie kill a salmon. If you will assure me of Rose to-morrow afternoon, you may have her to-day.”
“And I am to take care of myself,” said her brother. “I never hear of compromises without thinking of Dr. North’s illustration. I must have told you, Margaret.”
“If you ever did, I have forgotten.”
Stories were pretty often retold in this household, and it was the way to consider them as guests to be made welcome, no matter how often they came.
Lyndsay smiled. “Two Germans, who were North’s patients, built houses together and adjoining. Then each of them bought paint enough to paint both houses; one chose green and one a fine brick-red. This ended in a quarrel. Dr. North advised them to consult their priest, and this they did. He said, ‘Shust you make a gompromise, and migs de baints.’ So this was done, and neither got what he wanted. This is of the essence of all compromise.”
“But I shall get what I want,” said Anne.
“And we, too!” cried the boys. “We will take Rose and lunch and Big Tom, and Pierre and you can have the Indian, father.”