They must be on the lawn, then, opposite the karaka-trees. The karakas would be hidden by the marquee, and they were so lovely, with their broad gleaming leaves and their clusters of yellow fruit. Must they be hidden? They must. Already the men had shouldered their staves and were making for the place. Laura stayed behind, and because of the friendliness of the workmen and the smell of crushed grass she felt she got on much better with them than with the silly boys she danced with on Sunday nights. She was still thinking so when Meg's voice called from the house, "Laura! Laura, where are you? Telephone!" and she flew away, over the lawn, up the path, up the steps, across the veranda and into the porch.