Nan raised her eyes to the charred ruins of Uplands' house rearing themselves upon the hill opposite. She drew a long breath. "If as much happens next year as has happened this," she said, "I don't know what I shall do. I feel as if I had grown three feet and that all the little shelves in my brain where I store away things were piling up so fast that it will be necessary to build an extra room pretty soon."
Jack laughed. "You do say such funny things, Nan."
"So do you," returned Nan. "There come Mary Lee and the boys. Let's go meet them."
They passed by the little gardens where the boys had lent a hand in spading and hoeing. The young green of shoots appeared above the brown earth; green peas were filling in their pods, beans were climbing their poles; even the asparagus bed was started, and on the currant bushes hung bunches of green currants. Giant Pumpkin Head had begun to stretch his lusty limbs outside Place o' Pines. To Nan's fancy, he was guardian of the place.
"I am glad we aren't going away in summer," she said, observing all the familiar things. "I'm glad, too," she went on, "that the boys have to be here several years longer, so it isn't as if we shouldn't come back to just the same things."
"We shan't come back to the old fence," said Jean; "that's gone."
"And a good riddance that was. Aunt Helen says next thing the house must be painted, but I don't know that I want it to be," said Nan half regretfully; "it won't seem like our own old dingy dear home. I don't like spick and span things always."
"I am sure the sofa looks fine in its new cover," said Jean.
"Yes, but you have to keep your feet off it," said Jack, resentfully.
There was a sober look on Ran's face as he came up with the other two boys and Mary Lee.
"What do you think of our good news?" said Nan.
"I don't think it is very good news," he replied.
"You don't? Why not?" asked Nan, opening wide her eyes.
"Because we shall miss you all so awfully when we come back next year, and the house is going to be painted, too, so it won't seem a bit the same."
"That's just what I've been saying," Nan told him. "Oh, well," she added, philosophically, "I suppose we shall get used to it, and will forget that the house ever was no color. You'll get used to doing without us, too, and think what a lot we shall have to tell when we get back."