“It is ten minutes to four, little one, and there isn’t a sign of the wanderers.  Suppose you and I make tea:  do you think we could manage it between us?”

“Oh yes, sir; I know how to build a fire, and make tea too, and there are sticks in the waggon.  May I try?”

“Of course, and I’ll help to the best of my limited ability.”

Lucy went to the waggon and got out sticks and the kettle, while the judge made an amateur stove between four stones.  Lucy then laid the fire, and in a minute there was quite a cheerful little blaze.  Water was the next thing, and the judge remembered there used to be a tiny spring a few yards down the slope, which was found without any difficulty; and he brought back the kettle filled, and placed it on the fire.  He had so many odd remarks to make about his new occupation, that Lucy was kept laughing pretty nearly all the time.  It was getting on for five o’clock before four heads appeared at the edge of the slope.  Mr. Goldthwaite, Miss Keane, Minnie, and Tom arrived laden with flowers and ferns, and reported themselves exhausted, and thankful to see that tea was ready.  George and Carrie had not been seen since they departed at two o’clock.”

“You made tea all by yourself, Lucy,” said Miss Keane, laying her kind hand on Lucy’s sunny head.  “Clever little maiden, how are we to thank you?”

“Judge Keane helped me, Miss Alice,” replied Lucy blushing and smiling.

“Helped!  I should think I did,” said the judge tragically:  “she sat on the waggon like a queen, and commanded me like a slave.  She looks meek and mild enough, but don’t trust her.”

“Papa, how much nonsense do you talk in a day?” she said.  “I wish the other two would turn up; I’m famished.”

“Are we to wait on them, papa?” inquired Minnie piteously.  “I guess they don’t want any tea:  lovers never want anything to eat.  Mayn’t we have it now?”

“Yes,” said Miss Keane.—­“Lucy dear, may I trouble you for the teapot.—­Papa, hand the sugar, and make yourself useful.”

“What a real nice boy your brother Tom is,” said Minnie Keane, dropping down by Lucy’s side.  “We had a splendid time down there, while Alice and Mr. Goldthwaite talked out of books.  Aren’t you very fond of him?”

“Of Tom?  Of course I am,” answered Lucy; “you know I have nobody but him, and he has nobody but me.”

“Lucy, your tea is delightful,” said Mr. Goldthwaite from the other side of the table-cloth.  “I don’t know when I enjoyed anything so well.”

“Hunger is good sauce,” said the judge;—­“here are the truants.”  Mr. George Keane and Miss Goldthwaite appeared now, apparently very much astonished to find themselves behind time.  The judge made room for Carrie beside himself, and after looking blankly at her for a few minutes, said solemnly, “I thought I heard you say you wanted ferns; but I must have been mistaken, or possibly they haven’t come up in the glen this year.—­Some tea here, Alice.—­Miss Goldthwaite, may I help you to a piece of cake?” The truants joined in the laugh against themselves, and the rest of the meal was passed in a perfect babel of talking.