Laura went out with her bread and butter, for it was her idea that she should be the one to arrange things. Four men in shirt-sleeves stood grouped together on the garden path, carrying staves covered with rolls of canvas. She wished now that she had not got the bread and butter, but there was nowhere to put it, and she could not possibly throw it away. She blushed and tried to look severe and even a little short-sighted as she came up to them. "Good morning," she said, copying her mother's voice. But that sounded so fearfully affected that she was ashamed, and stammered like a little girl, "Oh — er — have you come — is it about the marquee?" "That's right, miss," said the tallest of the men, and he smiled down at her.