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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Pity Mother isn't here!" said Ingred, voicing the general feeling of the family, which always missed its central pivot. "Yes, but it would have been too great a trapse for her, poor darling!" qualified Quenrede. "I don't see how we could get her all this way unless we hired a pony." "Or borrowed an aeroplane. One seems about as possible as the other," grunted Ingred.
It was not a beautiful object, and it cut off the sunshine from a whole long flower-bed; so, though it insured privacy, it might be regarded as a doubtful benefit for the bungalow. "It makes one feel so suburban," mourned Quenrede. "We shan't be visible, at any rate, when we're digging potatoes," laughed Mrs.
Quenrede, who professed great surprise, gave him a guarded welcome. "After all the fuss you made about my manners yesterday, you might have seemed more glad to see him," sniffed Ingred critically.
A dress rehearsal was held, and the family rejoiced over Ingred's most decidedly Wild West appearance. "You have a pair of real moccasins that Uncle Ernest sent you for bedroom slippers. I'll cut some strips of cloth into fringe for leggings, and you can wear Athelstane's leather belt, and carry an axe for a tomahawk," said Quenrede, surveying her work with critical satisfaction.
Saxon, "and that's a great point to me, for I'm past the age that looks fascinating in an overall. If we've Suburbia on one side of us, we've the open moor on the other, which is something to be thankful for." "Yes, until it's sold in building plots," sighed Quenrede, who was in a fit of blues, and unwilling to count up her blessings. Intruder Bess
"If I could just dance with our own boys!" she sighed. "I'd pity you if you did!" declared Ingred, pausing in an effort to make Athelstane's steps more worthy of a ball-room. "Why, half the fun will be your different partners. I only wish I'd your chance and was 'coming out' too!" "I'm sure you're welcome to go instead of me," proclaimed Quenrede petulantly.
Ingred, home for the week-end, enlisted the help of Mother and Quenrede, and turned the bungalow almost upside down in her quest for suitable accessories. She thought of a number of characters she would have liked to impersonate, but was always balked by the lack of some vital article of dress. "It's no use!" she lamented.
"I don't know how other people may find it," he confided, "but hour after hour of this sort of thing gets on my nerves. A tramp over the moor is far more my line of amusement. I was wishing I might go home!" "So was I!" "But there's still at least another hour and a half." "With extras, more!" admitted Quenrede. He held out his hand for her program.
It was one of those beautiful September days when the air seems almost as warm as in August, and with the clock still at summer time, the sun had not climbed very far down the valley. The garden, where Mother and Quenrede had been working busily all the afternoon, was gay with nasturtiums and asters, and overhead hung a crop of the rosiest apples ever seen.
"Why, of course! You had a piece of candle and showed us inside the mound. I ought to have known you again, but you look so different " "In evening dress! So do you; but I recognized you in a minute. "No more than I am keeping you!" twinkled Quenrede, pointing to the empty line on her program. "I'm not dancing this, so I came here to to enjoy myself." Her companion laughed in swift comprehension.
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