"What nonsense, Janey!" said Allie, laughing at the strange, old-time saying. "I don't believe the cat'll 'cotch' me any more for singing, and it's ever so much more fun than 'tis to cry."
In fact, there was no particular reason that Allie should not sing, for life looked very attractive to her that morning. The bright June sunshine was lying warm over the town, and giving back a dazzling lustre from the snow-capped mountains which rose up from the midst of the summer landscape; lessons were over for the present, and, best of all, Mr. and Mrs. Burnam were to go out to camp that day, to make final arrangements for the long-talked-of week, when the Everetts, Burnams, and Fishers were to pitch their tents beside the engineering camp, in the Bitter Root Mountains, and enjoy a week of roughing it in the wilderness. Soon after breakfast they drove away from the door, with Victor snugly tucked in between them, while Allie, with the boys and Ben, stood on the piazza, to wave them a good-by. The children lingered there until the wagon was out of sight; then they turned back into the house, feeling very important over the prospect of two days of housekeeping on their own account.
But, after all their anticipations, the morning did not prove to be quite as enjoyable as they had hoped it would be. Marjorie had been invited to spend the day with them; but, unfortunately, Marjorie was in one of her perverse fits, and so successfully devoted herself to the task of being disagreeable that Allie was at her wits' end how to manage her; Howard openly quarrelled with her, and even Charlie, the courteous, marched out of the room and slammed the door behind him, while he sang, with tantalizing distinctness,—
"'Oh, jimineddy! And oh, goody gracious!
How I did love her! But she was contumacious.'"
This last insult was too much for Marjorie to bear, for, in her secret heart, she greatly admired Charlie, and longed to have him for her ally and champion, instead of being forced to watch his unswerving devotion to his cousin. As the door closed behind him, she flew after him, to deliver herself of one parting shot,—
"Charlie MacGregor, I de-test you! You're no gentleman, even if you do think you are; and I only hope you'll get what you deserve for being so rude to me, when I'm company."
Then the door banged again with even greater violence than before, and Marjorie burst out crying, as she put on her hat and departed, without a word to Allie.
Her irate guest once gone, Allie moved up and down the rooms, putting them in order with much the same dazed feeling as that which comes in the sudden hush that sometimes follows a violent thunder-shower. The more she pondered on the events of the morning, she could not see that either she herself or the two boys were in any way to blame for Marjorie's explosion, and as she forlornly sat down to the lunch table, she felt as if she were in part realizing the truth of Janey's prediction. However, she was too much accustomed to Marjorie's sudden fits of temper, and too well acquainted with her really kind heart, to dwell long upon the matter; so before the meal was ended she was gayly laughing with the boys, and planning for the next day's frolic.
"Come out and have a ride, Allie," urged Charlie, as they left the table. "I have a kind of a sort of a feeling that I'm in disgrace, and I want some fun to console me."
Allie laughed.