More cheers, lustier than ever, floated out into the orchard.
“The model daughter would have had a dull house-party with nothing but her bright idea to keep her company,” said Jo Fenton, suggestively.
“Three cheers for the house party! Three cheers for the 'Jolly Six!' Hip, hip, hurrah!” and at this moment Uncle Harry's window opened and across the breadth of the orchard came the warning note of a conch shell, an instrument of much power, with which Uncle Harry called his men to dinner in haying time. Had it not been for this message of correction it is possible the enthusiastic young people might have cheered one another till midnight.
It was afternoon of the next day. The six little housekeepers were gone, and the dejected hoys went into the garden to take a last look at the empty cottage. On the door was a long piece of fluttering white paper, tied with black ribbon. It proved to be the parting words of the “Jolly Six."=
```How dear to our hearts are the scenes of
```The coasting, the sleigh-rides, and--chief
```That gayest of picnics with squires so
```And note, torn away from the loved situ-
```For all that belongs to the kitchen we
```And feel that from infancy we have been
```The cook-stove and dish-pan to us are so
```The rest of our youth shall be one long
The boys read this nonsense with hearty laughter, and latching the gate behind them, they went off, leaving the place deserted.
“They are awfully jolly girls,” said Jack.
“Better than jolly,” added Geoffrey, thoughtfully.
“You're right, Geoff; miles better and miles more than jolly,” agreed Hugh. “None like'em in Brunswick.”
And with this outburst of respectful admiration the lads passed out of view.
The setting sun shone rosily in at the piazza window that afternoon, but fell blankly against a gray curtain, instead of smiling into six laughing faces as before.
A noisy crowd of sparrows settled on the bare branches over the door-step, twittering as if they expected the supper of bread-crumbs which girlish hands had been wont to throw them, and at last flew away disappointed. In the old house opposite, Miss Miranda sat in her high-backed chair, knitting as fiercely as ever, while Miss Jane was at her post by the window, drearily watching the sun go down.