They waited for no more urging, and together the three little friends ran across the street, through a side street, and down a broad avenue.

“It’s just a little farther down this way,” said Lester.

“Why it’s ever so far from the studio, Lester Jenks, and you said we’d just skip to it,” said Rose, breathlessly.

“Well, aren’t we skipping?” he said with a laugh, “we run a few steps, and then you and Polly skip along a little way, and then you run again.”

Rose was just wondering if they ought to turn back without the little treat, when Lester caught her hand, saying: 

“Here we are,” and he boldly opened the door.

A tiny bell tinkled as the door closed behind them, and a little, white haired old lady came out to greet them.

“We want some ice cream, these ladies and me,” said Lester, trying to look as tall as possible, and hoping that she did not notice that he was wearing knee breeches.  He thought that no one would dream that he was a small boy if only they could not see those knee breeches that he so heartily despised.

The old lady served the cream in dainty glasses, and heaped it high in a tiny pile that really amounted to little, but looked great—­for five cents.

“How cool and dark it is in here,” said Rose.

“It is a lovely place to eat ice cream in,” said Polly.

The strawberry ice cream was very, very pink, and they thought it delicious.

“Do you think we’ve been gone long, yet, Lester?” questioned Rose.

“Of course not,” said Lester, but Rose wished that he would eat his cream a little faster.

When the tiny glasses were quite empty Lester bought a package of candy for his friends, and having paid for the treat, opened the door for them to pass out onto the sidewalk.

“Why it looks different,” said Polly, “is it cloudy, since we went in there?” But the sky showed no clouds.  Then where had the bright sunlight gone?

“Oh, I b’lieve it’s late!” cried Rose, “do you s’pose it is?  It was long after lunch when we started for the studio, oh, ever so long after.  We staid there looking at the pictures for hours, I guess, and then we came with you, Lester.”

“It can’t be late,” the boy replied, although he truly believed that it was.

“We could go back a shorter way than the one we came.  Shall we?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, yes!” cried Rose, “we must get there before Aunt Lois is ready to go.  If Mr. Kirtland is still painting we can go in softly by the little side door, and wait until it is time to go.”

Lester led the way, and the three children ran down one street, and up another, until at last they paused for breath.

“This short way seems longer than the way we came!” ventured Polly.

“We aren’t lost, are we?” cried Rose.

“I turned into the wrong street when we started,” admitted Lester, “but it’s only a little way now.”