“So will mine,” said Marjorie, but she spoke with hesitation.  She knew that Grandma would not like to have her wear that dainty fresh frock out into the fields.

But, for some reason, Stella, too, was inclined to go, and with the trio, two against one always carried the day; and linking arms, in half a minute the three were skipping away toward the field.  They had not asked permission, because the fields were part of Mr. Martin’s property, and Stella was practically on her own home ground, though at a good distance from the house.

Enthusiastic over their new plan, the girls worked with a will, and, having carelessly gone off without any basket, they found themselves obliged to hold up the skirts of their dresses to carry their harvest.

“I should think we had enough to sell to everybody in Morristown,” declared Molly, as, tired and flushed, she surveyed the great heap she had piled into her dress skirt.

“So should I,” agreed Midget, gathering up more and more of her pretty dimity, now, alas! rumpled and stained almost beyond recognition.

Stella had a good share, though not so much as the others, and she stood calmly inquiring what they were going to do with it.

“There’s no use taking it to my house,” she declared, “for mother would only tell me to throw it away,—­I know she would.”

“Wouldn’t she let us make the extract?” asked Marjorie.

“She wouldn’t care how much we made it, but she wouldn’t let me make it at home, I know, because she hates a mess.”

“I don’t believe Grandma would like it either,” said Marjorie, with a sudden conviction; “it is awful messy, and it smells pretty strong.  But I’ll tell you what, girls:  let’s take it all right to ‘Breezy Inn.’  Then we can put it to soak right away.  We can get water from the brook, and there are plenty of pails and things there to make the extract in.”

“We can call it The Breezy Extract,” said Stella; “that’ll look pretty painted on the labels.”

“Breezy Extract is silly,” said Molly; “Breezy-Inn Extract is prettier.”

“All right,” said Stella, good-naturedly.  “Come on, I’m in a hurry to begin.  I’ll paint the labels, while you girls make the stuff.”

So they trudged across the field to Breezy Inn, dumped their heaps of pennyroyal into the dumb-waiter, and themselves scrambled gayly up the rope ladder.

Almost before Molly and Midge had pulled up their somewhat odorous burden, Stella had seated herself at the table to work at the labels.  The child was devoted to work of this sort, and was soon absorbed in designing artistic letters to adorn the bottles.

Midge and Molly worked away with a will.  Unheeding their pretty summer frocks, and, indeed, there was little use now for care in that direction, they brought water from the brook, hauled it up the dumbwaiter, and filled several good-sized receptacles with steeping pennyroyal flowers.