"It's very simple," Patience said loftily.

"So it is, Imp," Tracy exclaimed; "I love him with an A, because he's an--A-M-E-R-I-C-A-N!"

"I took him to the sign of The Apple Tree," Bell took up the thread.

"And fed him (mentally) on subjects--antedeluvian, or almost so,"

Hilary added.

"What _are_ you talking about?" Edna asked impatiently.

"Mr. Allen," Pauline told her.

"I saw him and Tom walking down the back lane the other night,"

Patience explained. Patience felt that she had won her right to belong to the club now--they'd see she wasn't just a silly little girl.

"Father says he--I don't mean Tom--"

"We didn't suppose you did," Tracy laughed.

"Knows more history than any other man in the state; especially, the history of the state."

"Mr. Allen!" Shirley exclaimed. "T. C. Allen! Why, father and I read one of his books just the other week. It's mighty interesting. Does he live in Winton?"

"He surely does," Bob grinned, "and every little while he comes up to school and puts us through our paces. It's his boast that he was born, bred and educated right in Vermont. He isn't a bad old buck--if he wouldn't pester a fellow with too many questions."

"He lives out beyond us," Hilary told Shirley. "There's a great apple tree right in front of the gate. He has an old house-keeper to look after him. I wish you could see his books--he's literally surrounded with them."

"Not storybooks," Patience added. "He says, they're books full of stories, if one's a mind to look for them."

"Please," Edna protested, "let's change the subject. Are we to have badges, or not?"

"Pins," Bell suggested.

"Pins would have to be made to order," Pauline objected, "and would be more or less expensive."

"And it's an unwritten by-law of this club, that we shall go to no unnecessary expense," Tom insisted.

"But--" Bell began.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking," Tom broke in, "but Uncle Jerry didn't charge for the stage--he said he was only too glad to have the poor thing used--'twas a dull life for her, shut up in the carriage-house year in and year out."

"The Folly isn't a she," Patience protested.

"Folly generally is feminine," Tracy said, "and so--"

"And he let us have the horses, too--for our initial outing," Tom went on. "Said the stage wouldn't be of much use without them."

"Three cheers for Uncle Jerry!" Bob Dixon cried. "Let's make him an honorary member."

"But the badges," Edna said. "I never saw such people for going off at tangents."

"Ribbon would be pretty," Shirley suggested, "with the name of the club in gilt letters. I can letter pretty well."

Her suggestion was received with general acclamation, and after much discussion, as to color, dark blue was decided on.

"Blue goes rather well with red," Tom said, "and as two of our members have red hair," his glance went from Patience to Pauline.

"I move we adjourn, the president's getting personal," Pauline pushed back her chair.

"Who's turn is it to be next?" Jack asked.

They drew lots with blades of gra.s.s; it fell to Hilary. "I warn you,"

she said, "that I can't come up to Tom."

Then the first meeting of the new club broke up, the members going their various ways. Shirley went as far as the parsonage, where she was to wait for her father.

"I've had a beautiful time," she said warmly. "And I've thought what to do when my turn comes. Only, I think you'll have to let father in as an honorary, I'll need him to help me out."

"We'll be only too glad," Pauline said heartily. "This club's growing fast, isn't it? Have you decided, Hilary?"

Hilary shook her head, "N-not exactly; I've sort of an idea."

CHAPTER VII

HILARY'S TURN

Pauline and Hilary were up in their own room, the "new room," as it had come to be called, deep in the discussion of certain samples that had come in that morning's mail.

Uncle Paul's second check was due before long now, and then there were to be new summer dresses, or rather the goods for them, one apiece all around.

"Because, of course," Pauline said, turning the pretty sc.r.a.ps over, "Mother Shaw's got to have one, too. We'll have to get it--on the side--or she'll declare she doesn't need it, and she does."

"Just the goods won't come to so very much," Hilary said.

"No, indeed, and mother and I can make them."

"We certainly got a lot out of that other check, or rather, you and mother did," Hilary went on. "And it isn't all gone?"

"Pretty nearly, except the little we decided to lay by each month. But we did stretch it out in a good many directions. I don't suppose any of the other twenty-fives will seem quite so big."

"But there won't be such big things to get with them," Hilary said, "except these muslins."

"It's unspeakably delightful to have money for the little unnecessary things, isn't it?" Pauline rejoiced.

That first check had really gone a long ways. After buying the matting and paper, there had been quite a fair sum left; enough to pay for two magazine subscriptions, one a review that Mr. Shaw had long wanted to take, another, one of the best of the current monthlies; and to lay in quite a store of new ribbons and pretty turnovers, and several yards of silkaline to make cushion covers for the side porch, for Pauline, taking hint from Hilary's out-door parlor at the farm, had been quick to make the most of their own deep, vine-shaded side porch at the parsonage.

The front piazza belonged in a measure to the general public, there were too many people coming and going to make it private enough for a family gathering place. But the side porch was different, broad and square, only two or three steps from the ground; it was their favorite gathering place all through the long, hot summers.