"Patience, if you don't stop repeating what everyone says, I shall—"
"If you speak to mother—then you'll be repeating," Patience declared.
"Maybe, I oughtn't to have said those things before—company."
"I think we'd better go back to the house now," Pauline suggested.
"Sextoness Jane says," Patience remarked, "that she'd have sure admired to have a horse and rig like that, when she was a girl. She says, she doesn't suppose you'll be passing by her house very often."
"And, now, please," Hilary pleaded, when she had been established in her hammock on the side porch, with her mother in her chair close by, and Pauline sitting on the steps, "I want to hear—everything. I'm what Miranda calls 'fair mazed.'"
So Pauline told nearly everything, blurring some of the details a little and getting to that twenty-five dollars a month, with which they were to do so much, as quickly as possible.
"O Paul, really," Hilary sat up among her cushions—"Why, it'll be—riches, won't it?"
"It seems so."
"But—Oh, I'm afraid you've spent all the first twenty-five on me; and that's not a fair division—is it, Mother Shaw?"
"We used it quite according to Hoyle," Pauline insisted. "We got our fun that way, didn't we, Mother Shaw?"