“All right, Rosy Posy. You and I’ll go dig down deep in the ground, and p’raps we’ll find something nice.”
“Ess,” said the baby, with an affirmative nod of her curly head; “ess, we find nice woims.”
This made them all laugh, except Miss Larkin, who gave a little shudder at Rosy Posy’s suggestion.
“Marjorie,” she said, after a moment, “I’ve an idea for your digging, if you really want to dig.”
“Well, I do feel like it, Miss Larkin, but I was mostly fooling. For Father did tell us we couldn’t have gardens this year, and I was glad of it when he said it, but now I’ve just taken a notion to dig.”
“It’s the spring,” said Kitty, sagely. “Spring always makes you feel diggy. But you’ll get over it, Mops.”
Kitty’s philosophical remarks, though not always comforting, were usually founded on fact.
“But, children, listen,” said Miss Larkin, who sometimes had difficulty to get an opportunity to speak. “This is my idea. You know your mother and father will be home week after next.”
“Hooray! Hooray!” shouted King. “’Scuse me, Miss Larkin, but I sure am glad!”
“Me too—me too—me too,” chanted Marjorie, until Kitty cried out: