"No, no!" shrieked Bettie, hurling herself upon Aunty Jane. "She can't go."
"Oh, please, Aunty Jane," cried Jean. "We can't spare her—she's our telescope and our ears."
"Oh, no," stormed Mabel, "we must keep her. She likes it here—and look at her face—all brown——"
"With dirt," snapped Auntie Jane. "It'll take me a month to get that child clean—and a year to scour off those disgusting freckles."
Marjory groaned. The prospect was certainly dismal.
"Never mind," counseled impish Henrietta, whispering in Marjory's ear. "You can run away—I'll help you. You can easily hide in the bushes so she can't find you when the time comes—there's forty good places to hide in—let's find one now."
"No," moaned Marjory, "I can't do that—I wouldn't dare to. And it won't do a mite of good to tease. If she says a thing she sticks to it—it's all over for poor me."
When things went wrong, Bettie cried easily, Henrietta wept copiously, and Mabel wailed uproariously; but Marjory, restrained little soul that she was, was seldom known to shed tears. But now several large specimens began to roll down Marjory's cheeks, and presently, to Mr. Black's dismay, the little girl was sobbing bitterly, with her head against Jean's flat but motherly bosom.
Both Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane pleaded with Aunty Jane. All the parents reasoned with her. Even Mrs. Slater, who was no camper herself, implored Miss Higgins to change her mind. But that was a thing that the poor lady never could do. Some people can't change their minds—Aunty Jane couldn't. Even when she wanted to she couldn't.
"Perhaps she'll be more amiable after dinner," suggested gentle Doctor Tucker, whose mild eyes were shining at the prospect of catching a trout with the hook that Mr. Black was baiting for him. "Many persons are."