I gave an intelligence office _carte
blanche_ when I was married, and got the ones I have now; and
we're so fond of each other that I simply can't part with them and
get haughty white persons."
Phyllis' one idea in those early days, as Joy learned later, had
been to have a summer staff who were cheerful. The intelligence
office woman had, naturally, chosen happy-minded darkies. And happy
they still remained; also adoring.
The neighbors, though Phyllis did not state this, from being shocked
had become passionately envious. Servants who had stayed eight years
without a change, merely one addition, were things to be watched
hungrily.
"I beg your pardon, but it's luncheon-time, Mrs. Harrington," said
the children's nurse at this point, appearing in the doorway. "May I
have the children?"
Phyllis bent over the sleeping boy and dog and unfastened her son.
The nurse gathered him up affectionately, and went in search of
Angela, who had strayed around the corner of the house a little
while before.
"Oh, I must go," cried Joy, starting to her feet. "They'll be
wondering where I am. And I haven't been to half the cottages."
She turned to go, then looked back at Phyllis wistfully.
"Think of it," she breathed. "A garden full of roses, and two men,
and a banjo, and a moon!"
Her hands locked together over the invisible wishing ring. She
wondered if there was a garden like that anywhere that _he_ lived.
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