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At The Bay Shore Farm
by
“Indeed, I have,” said Frances heartily. Then she added with a laugh, “I think I would feel much more meritorious if it had not been so pleasant. It has robbed me of all the self-sacrificing complacency I felt this morning. You see, I wanted to go to that picnic to see Sara Beaumont, and I felt quite like a martyr at giving it up.”
Grandmother Newbury’s eyes twinkled. “You would have been beautifully disappointed had you gone. Sara Beaumont was not there. Mrs. Kennedy, I see you haven’t told our secret. Frances, my dear, let me introduce you two over again. This lady is Mrs. Sara Beaumont Kennedy, the writer of The Story of Idlewild and all those other books you so much admire.”
* * * * *
The Newburys were sitting on the verandah at dusk, too tired and too happy to talk. Ralph and Elliott had seen the Governor; more than that, they had been introduced to him, and he had shaken hands with them both and told them that their father and he had been chums when just their size. And Cecilia had spent a whole day with Nan Harris, who had not changed at all except to grow taller. But there was one little cloud on her content.
“I wanted to see Sara Beaumont to tell Frances about her, but I couldn’t get a glimpse of her. I don’t even know if she was there.”
“There comes Fran up the station road now,” said Ralph. “My eyes, hasn’t she a step!”
Frances came smiling over the lawn and up the steps.
“So you are all home safe,” she said gaily. “I hope you feasted your eyes on your beloved Governor, boys. I can tell that Cecilia forgathered with Nan by the beatific look on her face.”
“Oh, Fran, it was lovely!” cried Cecilia. “But I felt so sorry–why didn’t you let me go to Ashland? It was too bad you missed it–and Sara Beaumont.”
“Sara Beaumont was at the Bay Shore Farm,” said Frances. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get my breath–I’ve been breathless ever since Grandmother Newbury told me of it. There’s only one drawback to my supreme bliss–the remembrance of how complacently self-sacrificing I felt this morning. It humiliates me wholesomely to remember it!”