"You have a pretty good time there, don't you?" he persisted.

His eyes were bent on Miss Sterling; yet Mrs. Albright kindly interposed with the safe a.s.sertion, "It is a beautiful place."

"Yes, it is beautiful," he replied, scanning the cheery, wrinkled face. "Any town should consider it a great privilege to have such an inst.i.tution within its borders. Mrs. Milworth--or June Holiday, as she preferred to be called--was a wonderful woman. I am glad to be in a position to help in the carrying-out of her plans."

Miss Sterling smiled a little queerly. Polly opened her lips, then shut them tight, and finally announced quite irrelevantly that she was hungry.

One of Mrs. Dudley's prettiest tablecloths was spread on a little piney level close to the brook, and Polly set out the paper plates and cups and the boxes of food.

"Which do you like best, Mr. Randolph, coffee or chocolate?" Polly queried anxiously.

"I will answer as a little boy of my acquaintance did,--'Whichever you have the most of.'"

"Well, you see, we have only one, and I do hope you don't like coffee best."

"I don't!" he declared. "I always drink chocolate when I can get it."

"I'm glad I brought it, then!" cried Polly. "You cut the cake, please, Miss Nita. I'm afraid I couldn't do it straight."

The little feast was ready at last, appet.i.tes were found to be of the keenest sort, and everything went merrily.

"I have never had the pleasure of a meal at the Home,"--Mr.

Randolph was eating a Banbury turnover with plain enjoyment. "I suppose you ladies are treated to this sort of thing every day."

"We have a pretty good cook," answered Miss Sterling discreetly; "but these pies are of Mrs. Dudley's make. Polly brought the lunch."

"Oh!" The man's eyebrows raised themselves a little. "Then I should say, Mrs. Dudley is an excellent Banbury pie-ist."

"I shall have to tell her that," laughed Polly. "It will please her very much."

"Nothing delights a woman more than to have her cooking praised,"

laughed Mrs. Albright.

"I learned that years ago." Mr. Randolph smiled reminiscently.

"When I was first married, I think I must have been a rather notional man to cook for. My wife seldom did much in the kitchen, but one day she made a salad. As it did not exactly appeal to my appet.i.te, after one taste I remarked that I was not very hungry.

To my dismay she burst into tears. It was her favorite salad, and she had made it with unusual care, never dreaming that I would not like it as well as she did. Ever afterwards I ate the whole bill of fare straight through."

"It sometimes takes courage to do that," smiled Mrs. Albright. "I hope you had a good cook. How much people think of eating! I don't blame 'em either. n.o.body enjoys anything better than--for instance, a lunch like this."

"Robert Louis Stevenson did," spoke up Mrs. Adlerfeld. "I read in my day-to-day book this morning--I can't quite 'remember--yes, this is it: 'After a good woman, and a good book, and tobacco, there is nothing so agreeable on earth as a river.' I did not think then I should be eating my dinner right on the bank of a little river!"

She gazed down lovingly on the water swirling and, foaming among the stones.

"Stevenson ought to know," said Mr. Randolph with a pleased smile.

"So he is one of your favorites as well as mine!"

"Yes, I like him very." Her little sunny face beamed with pleasure. "His book is more educating as many things said by a teacher."

"He is a good teacher."

"I wish he had not put in tobacco," scowled Mrs. Adlerfeld. "There are a many things better as tobacco."

"You have not tried it," he returned. "Stevenson knew because he had tried it."

The little woman shook her head decidedly. "I have been suffered a many times by tobacco." Then a smile broke mischievously. "You may smoke after dinner, Mr. Randolph."

The man laughed. "I was not pleading for myself," he protested.

"This is sufficiently soothing--" His hand made a comprehensive sweep. "Tobacco would be superfluous."

Miss Sterling had risen and gone over to the lunch-box, where she was trying to open a second thermos bottle.

"Let me do that for you!" He sprang to help her.

She stepped back heedlessly, her foot slipped, and with a sharp cry she fell on the smooth slope.

Polly and Mr. Randolph reached her together.

"Are you hurt?" Polly's voice was distressed.

"Any damage done?" The man's tone was cheery, yet concerned.

She laughed bravely.

"Oh, no!" taking the proffered hands and trying to rise. Then she sank back, catching her breath hard.

"It's just my ankle--but it isn't hurt!" she declared fiercely.

"Let me try it again."

She stood on her feet. "I guess I'm all here," she laughed; yet even with the words her face grew white.

Mr. Randolph caught her, and she drooped limply against him.

He laid her down gently, and at once she opened her eyes.

Mrs. Albright was rubbing her hands. "You will be all right in a minute," she said cheerily.

"I am all right now," Miss Sterling maintained. "How stupid of me to faint! I won't have a sprained ankle--so there!"

The rest laughed, though a little uncertainly.

Polly, like a true doctor's daughter, was examining the injury.

"It doesn't swell, so it can't be sprained," she decided positively.

Miss Sterling sat up and supplemented Polly's inspection. "Merely a strain. I'll be able to walk in a little while."

"You'd better not tax it," Mr. Randolph advised. "I am glad my car is so near. I drove in as far as the road was good."

"Oh!" Miss Sterling's voice was grateful. "I was wondering how I could ever walk over to the trolley."