"Think of a doll that can talk!" cried Faith.
"I think she bleats," laughed Ernest, and he mimicked Vera's staccato tones.
Faith laughed, too, but Gladys gave him a flash of her brown eyes.
"A boy doesn't know anything about dolls," said Faith. "I should think you'd be the happiest girl, Gladys!"
"I am," returned Gladys complacently. "What sort of a doll have you, Faith?"
"Rag, tag, and bobtail," laughed Ernest.
"Now you keep still," said his sister. "I'll show you my dolls when we go to dinner, Gladys. I don't play with them very much because Ernest doesn't like to, and now it's vacation we're together a lot, you know; but I just love them, and if you were going to stay longer we'd have a lot of fun."
Faith looked so bright as she spoke, Gladys wished she had brought something for her. She wasn't so sure about Ernest. He was a nice-looking, strong boy, but he had made fun of Vera. At present he was letting off some of his superfluous energy by climbing a tree.
"Look out for the pitch, Ernest," said his sister warningly. "See, Gladys, I have a horse out here," and Faith went to where the low-growing limb of a pine sprang flexibly as she leaped upon it into an imaginary side-saddle. Gladys smiled at her languidly, as she bounded gayly up and down.
"I have a pony," returned Gladys, rocking gently in her swinging cradle.