came floating up on the still evening air from the direction of the little woodsy dell below the manse hill.
"That makes me hungry," said Jerry.
"We had only bread and molasses for supper and cold ditto for dinner," said Una plaintively.
Aunt Martha's habit was to boil a large slab of mutton early in the week and serve it up every day, cold and greasy, as long as it lasted. To this Faith, in a moment of inspiration, had given the name of "ditto" and by this it was invariably known at the manse.
"Let's go and see where that smell is coming from," said Jerry.
They all sprang up, frolicked over the lawn with the abandon of young puppies, climbed a fence, and tore down the mossy slope, guided by the savory lure that ever grew stronger. A few minutes later they arrived breathlessly in the sanctum sanctorum of Rainbow Valley where the Blythe children were just about to give thanks and eat.
They halted shyly. Una wished they had not been so precipitate: but Di Blythe was equal to that and any occasion. She stepped forward, with a comrade's smile.
"I guess I know who you are," she said. "You belong to the manse, don't you?"
Faith nodded, her face creased with dimples.
"We smelled your trout cooking and wondered what it was."
"You must sit down and help us eat them," said Di.
