And her son----"
"What! is he going to row us? That nice fellow! He rows splendidly, I
know. I shall get him to let me take an oar. It's as easy as anything,
going down the stream. Oh, we must do it, Joan--we really, really
_must_! Grannie will have to put up for once with being alone. Is he
coming by himself?"
"Yes--no--I mean, he will drop his sister Mary at The Laurels and come
on for us, and then take her up as we go back."
"The Laurels? Oh, just a few minutes off. Mary--she's the eldest. When
does he come? Eleven o'clock! No time to waste. We must put on our new
frocks. You had better tell Grannie at once that we are going. I shall
keep out of her way. You'll manage her best."
"But if she doesn't like to be left?"
"Then she'll have to do without the liking! Yes, I know what you mean,
Joan. You want me to stay here, and set you free. And I'm not going to
do it. I simply won't--won't--won't! It's no earthly use your trying to
make me. I'm asked too, and I mean to go."
"Mittie, you've not seen the note yet. I think you ought to read it. She
asks me first--and then she just says, would I like to bring----?"
"It doesn't matter, and I don't want to see! It's enough that I'm
invited." Mittie had a quick temper, apt to flare out suddenly. She
jumped up, and flounced towards the door. "I shall get ready; and you'd
better make haste, or you'll be late."
"And if I find that I can't be spared as well as you?"
Joan's eyes went to Mittie, with a look of grieved appeal.
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