They said, “Yes, sir” in a disappointed chorus. Although they had not known exactly for what they were hoping, they all realized at once that it was _not_ company for dinner. The announcement, in fact, was like a dash of cold water. Roger made bold to question him. “Is it the Governor again?” he asked. “No,” answered his father. (Mary thought she detected here a slight rise of color to his cheeks, a circumstance easily accounted for if our readers will but recall that visit which brought such consternation in the wake of its honor.) Then he passed quickly through the gate and down the graveled sidewalk in the direction of his office. The children looked at one another, all alike unwilling to recognize that the very pleasurable suspense they had experienced must be satisfied by a guest for dinner, probably by some neighboring lawyer, who would talk about the tariff and keep them too long at the table. But the older ones still clung hopefully to the strange air of mystery about their father. That and the startling innovation in his appearance could not, they told themselves, portend the usual dinner-guest. “I suppose it will mean blue serge,” sighed Cynthia resignedly, “though it’s much too hot.” “I suppose it will,” said Mary. “I can’t,” said Roger, all the time knowing that he could and would. “There’s a baseball game at two--sharp.” John said nothing, mostly because at five it takes all one’s time to keep one’s mental balance in any such maelstrom of excitement as this. Moreover, he knew he must do just as he was told. “The Parker children all have new best dresses, made especially for summer,” contributed Cynthia, “muslin with dots. That makes five apiece for them.” “It’s a silly extravagance,” said Mary. (The words and the opinion belonged to her mother.) “Blue serge will do till Father gets the fall election.” But, to the surprise of all, the call to blue serge was not forthcoming. They heard the draft of the stove opened, and smelt the crisp, luscious odor of well-cooked meat and of freshly baked bread. They heard their mother’s quick, sure steps going from kitchen to dining-room and back again. Mary and Cynthia exchanged puzzled glances. Neither could remember a time when they had not been called in to help with the last things about the table. “For, even if we’re not needed, what about the discipline?” thought Mary. The petals from the orchard trees beyond the driveway drifted through the warm, bright air like great, lazy snowflakes. A pair of bluebirds circled about in the white fragrance and in the drowsy murmur of bees. And then Roger from the top of the gatepost gave a shout. He had seen his father’s hat just topping the hill that led from the village. “They’re coming--whoever it is!” he cried. II A BLUE GINGHAM AND AN ANCIENT LAND