"Oh, but have you tried yet?" asked Ruth, looking up archly. "You cannot tell until you do."
"Very well," said Flora, laughing, "I guess I shall try. But there is another thing," and the troubled look returned to her face. "It is about the boys, my brothers. They stay at home scarcely ever. I don't know where they go so often, and I am sure mother does not, and I don't believe she cares—you need not look grave again, Ruth—I don't. Harry and Alec seem to be good boys, and it is a pity they are not restrained. They may get into bad company—if they are not in it already—and do something dreadful, and bring disgrace on us all. What can I do about that?"
"It would take a wiser head than mine to tell you that," Ruth answered; "but you might try and see if you could not make it so pleasant at home they would not care to be away so much."
"It seems pretty plain to me that that is easier to say than to do," retorted Flora, just a little impatiently.
"Yes, I know," assented Ruth, meekly; "I don't pretend to be a Solomon; I only said you might try."
"I don't believe they would stay for me," contended Flora, stubbornly.
"That is another thing you have never tried yet," said Ruth, smiling mischievously.
"That is so," laughed Flora, as she took two or three curly parings, and put them on Ruth's hair, to show penitence for her contrariety. "I guess I had better not talk any more, until I have tried to do something. I don't know how to begin my reformatory measures, but I suppose all will be well if I start with 'whatsoever.'"
By this time the apples were finished, and she rose to go.
"You haven't remired my doll's things," said Jem, reproachfully.