“Matches! Where did you get matches?”
“Out of my bag. In this tiny box. I have never traveled without matches since the time we girls were lost in the snow up in the woods that time. Remember?”
“I should say I do remember our adventures at Snow Camp,” sighed Helen. “But I never would have remembered to carry matches, just the same.”
“Now, I break the head off this one. Do you see? One is now shorter than the other. I put them together—so. Now I hide them in my hand. You pull one, Helen. If you pull the longer one you get the lower berth.”
“I get something else, too, don’t I?” said Helen.
“What?”
“The match!” laughed the other girl. “There! Oh, dear me! it’s the short one.”
“Oh, that’s too bad, dear,” cried Ruth, at once sympathetic. “If you really dread getting into the upper berth——”
“Be still, you foolish thing!” cried Helen, hugging her. “If we were going to the guillotine and I drew first place, you’d offer to have your dear little neck chopped first. I know you.”
The next moment Helen began on something else. “Oh, me! oh, my! what a pair of little geese we are, Ruthie.”