“Then it’s you who need the chaperon,” declared Josephine.  “Uncle Timothy Rudd is dragon enough for Sally.”

“I shall want to be out there for every noon meal.  Can’t break off work and rush home three times a day, even with the new car—­and she’ll make it in twenty minutes, when the roads are good.  I shall have to take my lunch in a pail, like my farm hands, if you don’t come, for I’m not going to cast myself on the Lanes for food, except now and then.”

“Come on, I’m ready.  Talk to me about it on the way out, and when I come back I’ll put it to mother so artfully she can’t refuse.”  And Josephine took the control of the door-knob out of her brother’s hand.

Jarvis applied himself silently to his steering-wheel until they were out of the city, for although after a month’s practice he drove with considerable skill, he had not yet reached the point where steering through city traffic becomes purely mechanical.  But once on the open road, with few vehicles in the way, Jarvis continued the subject.

“Do you think mother really dislikes the idea?  It seems to me the most practical in the world.  Those west rooms would be fine, furnished with summer stuff—­I wouldn’t for the world have you put anything in them that would make the other part of the house look shabby by contrast.”

“Jarvis!  As if we would!  Why, it would be just mattings and wicker chairs, muslin curtains, and that sort of thing.  And I think mother rather likes the idea.  But she is afraid we should be forcing ourselves on them, as we did last summer with the tent.  She doesn’t doubt they would all like it, except Max.  But he’s so queer—­he never likes what he’s expected to.”

“Max is the very one who would favour it this time.  He said the other day he wished I could live out here, since I’m to run everything this season.  I said I’d like mighty well to be on the ground, but couldn’t, of course, in the circumstances, unless the family were along.  He said, ’Set up for yourselves in the west wing, and be here to get up with the lark, in the approved farmer’s style.  I propose to sleep till the last minute, and let the early birds get all the worms they like.’”

“Oh, he was only joking.”

“Of course he was joking, but I feel certain he’d favour the plan.  He has reason to give me my head in every way, hasn’t he?  I’m equipping the place with farm tools and machines at my own expense, hiring help out of my own pocket, and taking all the risk.  If I can’t have the west wing for the summer I’ll send back that disc-harrow that arrived yesterday—­I’m as proud of it as I am of the car.”

“Would you dare mention it to Sally?”

“The disc-harrow—­or the plan?  If she likes the plan as well as she does the harrow, she’ll welcome it with open arms.  I tell you, if I could strike the sparks out of Max with an expensive seed-sower that the mere sight of a set of hoes and rakes for her flower garden does with Sally, I’d be content.  No, I don’t dare mention it to Sally, but I should think you might.  She’d certainly be delighted to have you and mother there—­and she has to have me there anyhow, whether she likes it or not.”