“Yes,” nodded Caroline. That much she thought it safe to grant.
“They’re each of them expecting a little girl most eleven years old, with brown hair and eyes, and her hair bobbed.”
“Yes,” Caroline freely admitted.
“Well, then!” Jacqueline concluded triumphantly. “Suppose we go and change clothes, like Prince Edward and Tom Canty in ‘The Prince and the Pauper,’ and you say you’re me, and I say I’m you,—and who’s to know the difference?”
CHAPTER V
TURNED-ABOUT GIRLS
It was thoroughly wrong, the deception that Jacqueline had suggested. She knew it was wrong, but she didn’t care. As for Caroline, her mind was such a jumble of cows and boys and fierce half-aunts (so much more ogreish in suggestion than whole aunts!) and an Institution, looming in the background, that she hardly knew right from wrong.
Only as she followed Jacqueline’s example and began to unfasten her rumpled frock, she mustered the spirit to falter:
“But they’ll find out right away——”
“No, they won’t, unless you’re a silly.”
“But some day your Aunt Edith who knows you will come——”