“I’m not,” said Jacqueline. “I’d rather face fifteen boys than one old piano.”
“And I hope they don’t make me pitch hay or drive cows—I’m scared of cows,” quavered Caroline.
“I’d rather drive a million cows than have to be starched up and on my good behavior with a pack of tiresome aunts,” Jacqueline returned gloomily.
“Oh!” Caroline was goaded into crying. “If only you were me, and I were you!”
Jacqueline snorted derision. What’s the use of wishing? Then her gaze wandered to the helter-skelter heap of her belongings on the couch—hat-box, vanity bag, coat, suitcase, books!
Books! Her eyes fell on the gay jacket of “The Prince and the Pauper.”
Suddenly she grasped Caroline’s arm so hard that Caroline squeaked: “Ow!”
“Don’t stop to ow!” bade Jacqueline. “Because if you’ve got your nerve with you, I’ve got the dandiest plan so you can have a piano this summer, and no babies to tend, and no boys, nor nothing.”
Caroline merely stared and held Mildred tight. She really feared that the heat of the day had affected Jacqueline’s head.
“Your bossy old half-aunt has never seen you,” went on Jacqueline, “and my Gildersleeve relations haven’t seen me since I was three years old.”