"No; it's so late. But we can ring up the family, and they'll surely take us in for the night."
"Not if they see us first!" exclaimed Bill. "Oh, Miss Fairfield, you look like Ophelia with those flowers tumbling all over your face!"
Patty laughed, and removing the apple-blossom wreath from her head, was about to throw it away. But she felt it gently taken from her hand in the darkness, and she somehow divined that Farnsworth had put it in his pocket.
The combination of this sentimental act with the drenched condition of the flower wreath—and, presumably, the pocket, was too much for Patty, and she giggled outright.
"What ARE you laughing at?" snapped Daisy. "I don't see anything funny in this whole performance."
"Oh, DO think it's funny, Daisy," implored Patty, still laughing. "Oh, DO! for it ISN'T funny at all, unless we MAKE it so by thinking it IS so!"
"Stop talking nonsense," Daisy flung back. "Oh, I've sprained my ankle.
I can't walk at all! Oh, oh!"
Farnsworth looked at her. "Daisy," he said, sternly, "if you've really sprained your ankle, we'll have to get back into the car—for I can't carry you. But if you CAN walk, I advise you to do so."
Daisy looked a little frightened at his severe tone.
"Oh, I suppose I CAN walk," she said, "though it hurts me dreadfully.
Hold me up, Bill."