Conspiracy At The Manor House

Wide stripes of pumpkin and somber navy comprise this evening's cravat.  "And what may I get the little miss for her luncheon?" asked the footman, bowing low before the curly, redheaded mite perched at table.  "Oh, Rolph," she sighed dramatically, "luncheon is dretful!  Mayn't I have strawberries an' ice cream only?  No san'wich?  Please?  Oh, so pretty please?"  He laid a gloved hand upon her coppery head, smiled, and winked at her.  "I think we shall find something pleasant in Cook's kitchen.  You may leave it to me."