"'Why, Harry,' she answered in disgust, 'I wouldn't think you'd be so naughty, but,—if you really want to taste it, here's the spoon beside the jar.'"
"And did you?" questioned Dorothy.
"Well, yes, I have to admit that I did. In truth, I tasted and tasted until my sister cried:
"'Why, Harry, you naughty boy! When you get done tasting, there won't be any left!'
"'You won't care, because you wouldn't be so naughty as to taste it!' I said.
"'Oh, wouldn't I?' she cried. 'Well, you just let me take that spoon, and you'll see!'
"Well, a funny mix-up followed, in which we each tried to get possession of the spoon and the jam. We were laughing while we struggled for it, but at last, one of us slipped, and fell, dragging the other down; the jar of jam tipped over, and her white frock, my gray jacket and trousers, and even my long, yellow curls became smeared with the jam.
"Nurse opened the door, and screamed with terror, for the red jam looked as if we had been terribly hurt, and it was some time before we could convince her that we were not cut or bruised, but only very sticky!
"Then came the scolding, and my sister tried to screen me.
"'Harry couldn't help tasting it, he's so fond of jam,' she said.