“Yes, dearie, run along, but,—would you mind if I ask you not to use those—those unusual words?”
“Skiddoo? Oh, that’s an awful useful word, Aunt Abbie. I don’t see how I could get along without it, but I’ll try if you say so.”
“Yes, do try, Dolly; I want my niece to be a refined, ladylike little girl, not a slangy one.”
“Yes’m.” Dolly drew a little sigh. “I want to do what you want me to do. But I’m pretty forgetful, Aunt Abbie, so don’t be ’scouraged, will you, if I don’t get good all at once?”
Dolly had a childish trick of omitting the first syllable of a word, but Aunt Abbie kissed the earnest little face, and assured her that she wouldn’t get ’scouraged.
So away the twins scampered, down the stairs, and out into the sweet, clear morning air.
Dana Dene stood high on an elevation that looked down on the small town of Heatherton. The view from the terrace in front of the house was beautiful, and as Dick and Dolly looked down at the clustered buildings they tried to guess what they were.
“That’s the church,” said Dick, triumphantly pointing to an unmistakable spire.
“One of ’em,” corrected Dolly; “there’s another, and I wonder what that big stone building is; prob’ly the school where we’ll go.”
“P’raps. Is it, Patrick?”