“Harry!” he called, “would you like to distinguish yourself? I’ve enough blueberries here for a nice big pie. What do you say?”
“She says yes!” cried Chub.
“I haven’t said anything,” Harry demurred. “But you’re going to, aren’t you?” he asked anxiously.
“Do you really want a pie?”
“Want it! My soul craves a blueberry pie, Harry!”
“All right; but if I’m to make it in time for dinner we must go back at once. I do hope it will be a success. I never tried baking in a tin oven,” she added loftily.
“That’s all right,” said Dick. “After you’ve tried it once you’ll use no other. Isn’t it lucky dinner is our midday meal!”
So they had blueberry pie that day, a good big fat one it was, too. After a short siesta they walked over to the pasture which afforded a fairly good place for kicking and catching, and the boys found the foot-ball which Chub had brought along and had a good hour of fun with it. Snip, too, enjoyed it, chasing the pigskin like a veteran and trying to bite holes in it when he had run it down.
