“Speakin’ of vittles, I ain’t never felt the same sence they took away my pie for breakfust,” grumbled Grandpa, and everybody laughed.
Doctor Brown lit his pipe and retired behind the newspaper, but found himself thinking less about State politics and the rise in certain stocks than about the new idea that his father had unwittingly let fall. Yes, there was no doubt about it; it was his little favorite and Miss Morrison, between them, who had boldly thrown open the windows and waked up the sleepy children in stuffy school-rooms, who had set the fashion of long cross-country walks among the younger set, had revived toboggan parties and skeeing and “one-day camps,” who had, in short, conducted an effective “anti-tuberculosis campaign” under the disguise of “fun.” He had not realized before how much they were all indebted to that natural hunger for fresh air, so naïvely confessed by his “outdoor girl.”
“Though it _is_ bad for my business—and the undertaker’s,” he humorously admitted to himself.
On that same midsummer day, Stella herself, with loyal Cynthia at her side and Scotty acting alternately as scout and rear-guard, was harvesting a field yellow with feathery wild mustard, down at “Uncle Si’s place.” That eccentric bachelor had offered to pay handsomely for the extermination of the weed by gathering its seed, and this bounty, together with the market price of five cents a pound, had spurred the girls to unusual exertions.
The work _was_ hard, and they had been at it steadily for two or three hours, when, with shoulders that ached from stooping and faces glowing with heat, they straightened up at last, and looked longingly over toward the cool shade of Wolcott’s Woods.
“Let’s get a drink at the spring, and then sit under that tree awhile and rest,” begged Cynthia. “I’ve got some sandwiches and a splendid book in my pocket.”
“Well,” consented Stella, “I suppose we might. You’ve helped like a Trojan, Sin, and I ’most know I’m going to have money enough for my new fall suit. I don’t want to disgrace our class, you know,” she added, merrily.
But long before they reached the giant maple that cast its green shade over a far corner of the field, Sir Walter began to bark wildly, and to make excited little dashes forward and runs backward, after his usual idiotic fashion when trouble was in the wind.