She splashed gleefully about as her brother came into sight and walked with mock dignity through the meadow to the stream. He held his red-crowned head high and sang teasingly, “Manda, Manda, red-headed Manda; tee-legged, toe-legged, bow-legged Manda!”
“Philip Reist,” she shouted crossly, “I am not! My legs are straighter’n yours! You dare, you just dare once, to come in the crick and say that and see what you get!”
Although two years her junior he accepted the challenge and repeated the doggerel as he planted his bare feet in the water. She splashed him and he retaliated, but the boy, though smaller, was agile, and in an unguarded moment he caught the girl by the wrists and pushed her so she sat squarely in the shallow waters of the brook.
“Hey, smarty,” he exulted impishly as he held her there, “you will get fresh with me, you will, huh?”
“Phil, let me up, leave me go, I’m all wet.”
“Now, how did that happen, I wonder. My goodness, what will Mamma say?” he teased.
“Phil,” the girl half coaxed, but he read a desire for revenge in her face.
“Jiminy Christmas, don’t cry.” He puckered up his lips in imitation of a whimpering girl. “Got enough?”
“Phil,” the word rang crossly, “you let me be now.”
“All right, cry baby.” He loosened his hold on her wrists. “But because you’re such a fraid cat I’ll not give you what I brought for you.”