Mrs. Constant took them from her, and smiled on the excited three.
“I hope you will have a pleasant day, and try to be good.”
“Not too good, mother,” expostulated Willie.
“No, only don’t get into mischief.”
“What shall we do first?” asked Ada.
“I don’t know,” replied Dolly. “Isn’t it fun to have one whole day which is not Christmas or Thanksgiving?”
For a short time the children remained in Mrs. Constant’s room, upsetting her baskets, tangling her silk, and plying her with numberless questions.
“I think you had better take a run in the garden,” she finally said. “You are so restless and full of holiday, I think the fresh air would relieve you.”
“What a dear mother!” they cried; and having tumultuously kissed her, they repaired to the garden.
They lived in a country town, and had a large plot of ground at the back of the house, through the farther end of which flowed a brook. Each one had his garden bed, and at one side was a summer-house, where they kept their garden tools and many of their playthings, also a pet rabbit, named Blackhawk. It was too late in the fall for flowers, only a few sturdy asters and hardy verbenas being in blossom, and they played tag, hide-and-seek, and chased each other with handfuls of dead leaves. While they were thus occupied, their mother called them, and told them that aunt Clara had sent for her to come and spend the day; she had sprained her ankle, and wanted some one to sit with her.