“Run, Rannie, run!” panted Jane. “I got to get home an' tell mamma about it before Willie. I bet I ketch Hail Columbia, anyway, when he does get there!”
And in this she was not mistaken: she caught Hail Columbia. It lasted all afternoon.
It was still continuing after dinner. Thatt evening, when an oft-repeated yodel, followed by a shrill-wailed, “Jane-ee! Oh, Jane-NEE-ee!” brought her to an open window down-stairs. In the early dusk she looked out upon the washed face of Rannie Kirsted, who stood on the lawn below.
“Come on out, Janie. Mamma says I can stay outdoors an' play till half past eight.”
Jane shook her head. “I can't. I can't go outside the house till to-morrow. It's because we walked after Willie with our stummicks out o' joint.”
“Pshaw!” Rannie cried, lightly. “My mother didn't do anything to me for that.”
“Well, nobody told her on you,” said Jane, reasonably.
“Can't you come out at all?” Rannie urged. “Go ask your mother. Tell her—”
“How can I,” Jane inquired, with a little heat, “when she isn't here to ask? She's gone out to play cards—she and papa.”
Rannie swung her foot. “Well,” she said, “I guess I haf to find SOMEp'n to do! G' night!”