"For ever more, why didn't you wear your old clothes, Blue Bonnet?" Kitty Clark inquired. "That sweater will be pot black before you go a mile, and you'll be as freckled as a turkey egg without some shade for your face."
"The sweater will wash, thank you, that's why I wore it, and I'm not the freckly kind."
The shot was unintentional, but Kitty colored to the roots of her red gold hair.
"You are fortunate," she said. "I am."
"That's the penalty you pay for having such a peach of a complexion," Blue Bonnet retorted, and the breach was healed.
At the end of the car line the hay-rack was waiting. The girls climbed on.
"Wait," Blue Bonnet shouted, jumping off quickly, "I almost forgot I want a picture of you."
While she adjusted the camera, the girls struck fantastic poses, Debby perching herself airily on the end gate of the wagon.
There was a warning cry from the girls, which the staid and sober farm horses misinterpreted. Off they started at a mad gallop, leaving the bewildered Debby a crumpled heap in the roadway.
She was on her feet before Blue Bonnet reached her, laughing and crying in a breath.