"No; it wasn't ours, either," said Tom. "Could it have been your little sister?"
"Mercy, no!" cried Marjorie. "Rosy Posy isn't that sort of a child. Oh, I do think it's awful!" and forgetting her royal dignity, Queen Sandy began to cry.
"Why, Mops," said King, kindly; "brace up, old girl. Don't cry."
"I'm not a cry baby," said Midget, smiling through her tears. "I'm just crying 'cause I'm so mad! I'm mad clear through! How could anybody be so ugly?"
"I'm mad, too," declared Tom, slowly, "but I know who did it, and it's partly my fault, I s'pose."
"Your fault!" exclaimed Midget. "Why, Tom, how can it be?"
"Well, you see it was this way. Yesterday afternoon Mrs. Corey came to call on my mother, and she brought Hester with her."
"That red-headed girl?"
"Yes; and she has a temper to match her hair! Mother made me talk to her, and, as I didn't know what else to talk about, I told her about our Sand Club, and about the Court to-day and everything. And she wanted to belong to the club, and I told her she couldn't, because it was just the Maynards and the Craigs. And she was madder'n hops, and she coaxed me, and I still said no, and then she said she'd get even with us somehow."
"But, Tom," said King, "we don't know that girl to speak to. We hardly know her by sight."