“Miranda says what Hilary needs is a good herb tonic!”

“Miranda doesn’t know everything.”

“What is Uncle Paul going to do then?”

“Send some money every month—­to have good times with at home.”

“One of those blue paper things?”

“I suppose so,” Pauline laughed.

“And you don’t call that nice!  Well of all the ungratefullest girls!  Is it for us all to have good times with?  Or just Hilary?”

“All of us.  Of course, Hilary must come first.”

Patience fairly jumped up and down with excitement.  “When will they begin, and what will they be like?  O Paul, just think of the good times we’ve had without any money ’t all!  Aren’t we the luckiest girls!”

They had reached the strawberry-bed and Patience dropped down in the grass beside it, her hands clasped around her knees.  “Good times in Winton will be a lot better than good times anywhere else.  Winton’s such a nice sociable place.”

Pauline settled herself on the top rail of the fence bordering the garden at the back.  Patience’s enthusiasm was infectious.  “What sort of good times do you mean?” she asked.

“Picnics!”

“We have such a lot of picnics—­year after year!”

“A nice picnic is always sort of new.  Miranda does put up such beautiful lunches.  O Paul, couldn’t we afford chocolate layer cake every time, now?”

“You goosey!” Pauline laughed again heartily.

“And maybe there’ll be an excursion somewhere’s, and by’n’by there’ll be the town fair.  Paul, there’s a ripe berry!  And another and—­”

“See here, hold on, Impatience!” Pauline protested, as the berries disappeared, one after another, down Patience’s small throat.  “Perhaps, if you stop eating them all, we can get enough for mother’s and father’s supper.”

“Maybe they went and hurried to get ripe for to-night, so we could celebrate,” Patience suggested.  “Paul, mayn’t I go with you next time you go over to The Maples?”

“We’ll see what mother says.”

“I hate ’we’ll see’s’!” Patience declared, reaching so far over after a particularly tempting berry, that she lost her balance, and fell face down among them.

“Oh, dear!” she sighed, as her sister came to her assistance, “something always seems to happen clean-apron afternoon!  Paul, wouldn’t it be a ‘good time,’ if Miranda would agree not to scold ’bout perfectly unavoidable accidents once this whole summer?”

“Who’s to do the deciding as to the unavoidableness?” Pauline asked.  “Come on, Patience, we’ve got about all the ripe ones, and it must be time for you to lay the supper-table.”

“Not laying supper-tables would be another good time,” Patience answered.  “We did get enough, didn’t we?  I’ll hull them.”

“I wonder,” Pauline said, more as if speaking to herself, “whether maybe mother wouldn’t think it good to have Jane in now and then—­for extra work?  Not supper-tables, young lady.”