“Yes,” said Miss Dorinda, sighing; “of course she can’t stay after this; but she seems very affectionate and loving.”
“Affectionate! Loving! Dorinda Flint, what are you talking about? Do you call it affectionate to lock us helplessly in this room?”
“No; but that was impulsive, and because she wants to stay here. I don’t think she is really a vicious child.”
“Well, I don’t want to think anything about her!”
Miss Priscilla took up a newspaper and pretended to read, so desirous was she of not appearing defeated; and, indeed, she would have stayed quietly in that room all day rather than call for assistance, or in any way show that she was at the mercy of her erratic niece.
Miss Dorinda was as much perturbed as her sister, but she made no effort to hide it. She fluttered about the room, looked out of the window, tried the door-knob, and at last sat down in a big rocking-chair and began to rock violently.
Suddenly the door burst open and Ladybird came flying in.
“Aunties,” she cried, “the house is on fire! What do you want to save most?”
“Mercy on us!” cried Miss Priscilla, rushing from the room, “let me get my Lady Washington geranium. The buds are just ready to open.”
“Where is it? I’ll get it,” said Ladybird, dancing around in great excitement.