“I don't believe I ever was young. At any rate, I never skipped,” added the Other Girl thoughtfully.
“Never skipped! Then it's time you did. It's never to late to—skip. Come on, I'll show you how.”
Gayly they went skipping down the stretch of snowy roadway, with their arms around each other. The crisp air reddened the tips of their ears and patted their backs approvingly. For once, at any rate, the Other Girl was young.
At the “store,” Glory telephoned to Aunt Hope. It was quite a while before she could make connections with the private wire, but she waited patiently.
“Hello!” she called, her voice unnecessarily high-pitched. “I'm Glory. Is this you, James? Well, tell auntie I got carried by—carried by! What? Yes, I'm all safe. I'm with my fr— Why, auntie, that's you! I hear your voice! You ought not to have walked out into the hall! Yes, I'm just as ‘all right’ as I can be. I'm going home with Diantha. What? Oh, yes, I knew you'd feel safe about me, then. I sha'n't tell Diantha. It would puff her up! Yes, I wore my rubbers. Yes, I've got my muffler. No, my cold's better. Take care of yourself, auntie; good-by. Oh, no, wait! You still there, auntie? Well, the reason I got carried by was because I was so buried up in a problem. Isn't that funny for Glory? Good-by.”
Tiny Tim met them at the door of a little brown house near the station. His eyes widened with astonishment at sight of Glory. Then his glance traveled to his sister in evident uneasiness.
“My!” he ejaculated slowly, “I've e't up the last cooky!”
Glory laughed out merrily. “Oh, I'm so glad!” she said, “for I don't like cookies unless there's a hole in them.”
“These had holes. I've e't up the last hole, too.”
“Oh, dreadful! But I'll tell you what, Timmie—if you'll let me come in and stay all night, I'll promise not to eat anything but a slice of bread and butter. We could cut a hole in that and play it was a cook—”