“I am something of a stranger,” the young man replied, coming in, “but it is not of choice that I am so, Mrs. Kennedy. I have come over to ask if you and Polly and Agnes will honor my little cabin this afternoon and take that long-promised supper with me. Jimmy says he and your husband will look after the children.” “Yes? That is kind of Jimmy. They will be no trouble, however, for they are always good with Margret.” “Where is Polly?” “She and Agnes are at the dye-kettle. It seemed a fine day for the work. They are around at the back of the house.” “I think I could find them without trouble,” said Parker, smiling, as Polly’s laugh smote his ear. Polly was always merry over the dye-kettle. “You’ll come this evening, Mrs. Kennedy?” “Gladly. I have never crossed the river, you know.” “It is not much of a journey if one rows over from this side; sometimes, though, I find it easier to come by the ford. I think if you row over and I meet you with horses on the other side, it will be the best way. It will be bright moonlight coming back, and you need not be afraid even if you do hear uncanny noises.” “I shall know what they are. I am getting quite used to the sound of wolves and wildcats.” “I will go and make my request to Polly, then.” Guided by the peals of laughter, Parker took his way toward the back of the house where Polly was chasing Agnes around with threatening blued hands. “Once I get me hands on that red poll, I’ll make it purple,” she was crying, and Agnes was laughingly defying her with the big stick she had been using to stir the dye. “I will surely give you a taste of this, Polly, if you come a step nearer,” she was saying. “You romping children,” cried Parker. “Will you cease your play for a moment and speak to me?” Polly advanced holding out her blue-stained hand. “I’ll be glad to shake hands with ye, Mr. Willett,” she declared, and laughed with glee as he backed off. “Polly is so reckless, and she calls my hair red, Mr. Willett,” Agnes complained. “It’s nearer that than anything else; ye wouldn’t call it black, would ye?” Polly asked. “No, but mother calls it auburn, and that has a nice sound.” “Go ’long wid ye,” cried Polly, “wid yer fancy names. Weel, Mr. Willett, yer no fashin’ yersel’ about us, these days, it’s clear.” “It’s not what one desires in this world, but what he finds time to do, Polly. To prove that I’ve been thinking of you I have come over to ask you all to sup with me.” Polly looked at her stained hands. “They’re a pretty looking pair for a party,” she declared. “It’s no party; it is only for a very select and chosen few--yourself, Mrs. Kennedy, and Agnes. Will the dyeing be finished in time for you to come over this afternoon?”