“Miss Sniffen” appeared to pass unnoticed.  Polly suddenly remembered her handful of wintergreen sprigs and berries, and the sleepers awoke to join the merriment and the little pungent feast.

“I came up,” Mr. Randolph explained, “to look over some trees that a man wants, and I rather think I ought to go directly back; but,” he went on with a whimsical laugh, “I guess business won’t know it if I steal this June holiday.  It is a good while since I had one.”  His face grew instantly grave.

“You have to catch June holidays quick,” smiled Mrs. Adlerfeld wistfully.  “They don’t stay!”

“No, they don’t stay,” Mr. Randolph agreed gravely.  “But,” he brightened, “you of June Holiday Home have them all the year round.”  He looked from one face to another.

Mrs. Albright smiled a wordless response, the swift color flushed Miss Sterling’s face, while fun played about Polly’s mouth.

“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 assertion, “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 institution 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, appetites 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.”