"Let's have a game of tennis. You girls play, don't you?"
It proved that they did, and Alan was sent off to get the net and rackets, followed by Polly, who went racing after him, to help him bring out his load.
"Why, do girls run here?" asked Katharine, with an air of surprise.
"Yes, of course we do; run and play tag, and do all sorts of dreadful things," answered Molly, with some spirit. "What do you do, I'd like to know?"
"Of course it's different in a city," replied her cousin sedately. "We play tennis and skate; but we never run, all for nothing. Only little girls do that."
"What nonsense!" was Molly's comment. "I'd call myself a little girl, then, if I couldn't have any fun without. I hope you don't consider yourself a young lady—Excuse me, Katharine," she added hastily. "I didn't mean to be rude; but you'll have to take us as you find us, I'm afraid."
But Alan and Polly had reappeared, and the game began, watched by
Alan, who refused all the girls' entreaties to play.
"I can't to-night, Poll," he answered to her glance; "I'm too stiff in the joints, but I'll act as umpire."
By the time the game was over, they were excellent friends, even Katharine's reserve having yielded to admiration for the playing of these two girls, who returned her swiftest balls with the precision born of long practice. As the bell rang for dinner, she dropped her racket and held out a hand to each, saying, with the winning grace she knew how to assume at her pleasure,—
"I never saw better players in my life. We shall have to try a series of match games this fall, West against the East."