“Humph!” Miss Darby gave a scornful exclamation.
Grandpa Gil looked puzzled. “Still I don’t understand just what happened,” he said. “Suppose you begin at the beginning, my dear.”
“Well,”—Elizabeth felt emboldened to tell the whole story,—“we wanted to do something to welcome Ruth, and we couldn’t think of anything really nice, but we thought it would be funny if we dressed up like two old beggar women and lay in wait for her, then when we had whined out our beseechment we would suddenly throw off our disguise and stand before her in our true characters.”
“And when we saw a perfect stranger,” put in Betsy, “we were the ones who were surprised and scared. We were so taken aback that we rolled all the way down hill.”
“But we weren’t hurt,” Elizabeth took care to assure them all. “I bruised and scraped my elbows and knees a little, but that was all.”
“Quite what you might expect in playing a practical joke,” remarked Miss Darby. “I hate practical jokes,” she repeated.
“I cannot see that they really intended any harm,” said Mr. Gilmore mildly.
“Whether they intended it or not they did enough,” returned Miss Darby, still refusing to be mollified. “I never knew a red-headed person yet that wasn’t mischievous and unruly. Where did she get that red hair, anyhow? I am sure there is none in our family. It must come from her father’s side of the house.”
Elizabeth cast a deprecating look at her cousin Belle, who put in a good word. “We all admire Elizabeth’s hair very much, aunt Eunice, and we are very fond of her.”
Aunt Eunice looked at Elizabeth as much as to say that she was far from agreeing with this remark, and to Elizabeth’s indignation said: “I am sorry Kate hasn’t shown better judgment in bringing up her children. I imagined that she was a good and careful mother.”