“That is seven years our senior,” said Beth, reflectively.
“Six, in my case, if you please,” said Mary, smartly. “And what’s six years in a boy? He could be a lawyer forty times over and I wouldn’t be afraid of him.”
“You have more assurance than most, Mary,” said Beth, smiling. “I don’t know that I shall dare even speak to Larry now.”
“Humph! you and he used to be as ‘sticky’ on each other as two molasses cocoanut balls—you know you used. He was the white-headed little boy who used to pull you to school on his sled,” said Mary, airily.
“But that was a long time ago,” said Beth, with laughter. “I haven’t seen Larry since last winter’s holidays—and then scarcely more than to wave my hand to him. He’s grown quite away from us Hudsonvale girls and boys since his sophomore year at college.”
“My! how he did puff himself and walk turkey his first two years at college,” said the slangy Mary. “The only boy from Hudsonvale who ever went to a real, big school, I guess.”
“But Larry wasn’t spoiled,” Beth hastened to say. “He’s so sweet-tempered.”
“Oh! you know how sweet he is if anybody does,” chuckled Mary. “Well! I must turn off here. Where are you going, Beth?”
“Just across town on an errand,” her friend said evasively; for it was the gossipy girl’s nature to repeat to the next person she talked with anything she had learned from her previous companion, no matter how trivial.
“Not that I would mind if the whole town knew I was going to old Mrs. Crummit’s for a dozen fresh eggs,” thought Beth, with inward laughter. “But I do wish Mary Devine was not such a ‘Babbling Bess.’”