“Maybe I’m not tired,” she said, curling herself up among the pillows on the lounge, “and maybe we haven’t had a good time!”
“Doing what, my dear?” Aunt Lucinda asked, laying down her book, and suddenly realizing that the evening had seemed rather longer than usual.
“‘Acting up,’” Norah called it. “She said it sounded to her like there were forty instead of fourteen up attic, and that we weren’t one of us a day over four.”
“Poor Norah!” Mrs. Clyde laughed. “But what did ‘acting up’ consist of?”
“Falling down and getting up, mostly,” Blue Bonnet answered; “that is, for some of us. Alec rented a lot of roller-skates and turned the attic into the jolliest rink. Wasn’t it the cutest idea? And that horrid Boyd—”
“Blue Bonnet!” Miss Lucinda began.
“Well, he is horrid, Aunt Lucinda! Taking all the credit! I wish he’d never come—and I think Alec wishes it, too, though he’d die, rather than let on that—” Blue Bonnet paused to slip another pillow behind her back. “Please don’t let’s talk about him, Aunt Lucinda!”
“My dear, I am not aware that we were talking about him.”
“He makes me feel cross all over—the same as making crocheted shawls does.”
“I thought we were not to talk about him,” Miss Lucinda suggested, while Grandmother asked, laughingly, how many such shawls Blue Bonnet had made.