[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger’s arm was aching from all the lemons she’d squeezed. She was happy to stop and give some consideration to Wren’s question. ‘Hmmm . . .well, from what I saw outside in the front yard all the tables and benches are in place, the kegs are there, and that little place near the verandah where Gil and his friends play music is ready.’ She looked over to the big stove where the ovens held pans of roasted chicken and taters.

‘I think we should sugar up this lemon juice and stir in the strawberries, and get it poured into pitchers. Then let’s go get dressed. What do you say to that? Seems like the only thing really left to do is to bring out the food when it’s ready, and we can run in and help with that.’ She shivered in anticipation of seeing her Ferdy this evening and dancing with him.

Ginger washed up her hands and poured in the sugar for Wren to stir. It was Wren who stirred in the cut up strawberries, turning the lemonade a lovely pinkish color. They both got out the serving pitchers, and lining them up along the counter, they dipped big ladles into the lemonade and filled up the pitchers in no time.

‘Cmon!’ said Ginger, as they put the last of the pitchers in the cooler. Let’s go up to my room and get dressed . . .