She was a little tyrant and anyone who wish to play with her must do as she said if she cared for peace.
"Run, now!" she cried. "Run! But you can't catch me!"
Truly, she was fleet footed.
Up the long driveway, around the house, past old Towser's kennel, pausing just long enough to kick it in order that he might growl, up the front steps and along the piazza, over its railing, across a bed of choice flowering plants, breaking some, and crushing many, around the summer house and through the grape arbor, shouting like a little wild Indian, she ran, and Inez could not get near enough to touch her.
"You're slow!" cried Gwen, "slower than an old cow! You can't run like anything, so we might as well sit down!"
In truth, she was tired but she would not say so. It pleased her far better to find fault with Inez.
"When YOU get rested," she said, "we might climb up onto your barn and crawl into the cupola."
"Ye'll not be doin' that, young lady," said the gardener, who, as he was passing, had heard what she had said. "It's not safe, an' I know Mr. Varney'd not allow it."
"Horrid old thing!" said Gwen. "Who do you mean?" Inez asked, sharply.
"The gardener, of course," snapped Gwen.