"Hanging out clothes!" repeated Mildred, amazed. "What in the world"—She did not wait to finish her sentence, but hastening into the hall seized a broad-rimmed hat hanging there and hurried to the back of the house. Running down the steps, the dancing light quite gone from her clear eyes, she approached her sister.
"What does this mean, Clover?" she exclaimed accusingly.
The elder, already highly colored, now looked uneasy. "You know Mrs. O'Rourke couldn't come to-day to do the washing," she answered.
"No, but she can come Wednesday," retorted the younger, placing the hat upon the sunny roughened hair of the head which was decidedly below her own in height.
"Don't stick the hat-pin into me," cried Clover, smiling up into the displeased eyes.
"I don't know but I will. Just look at your fingers, all white and parboiled!"
Clover clasped the offending hands behind her.
"What did you do it for?" asked the young girl severely. "Here I've been having the most elegant jouncy sail,—it is deliciously rough,—sitting at my ease on a cushion, while you've been working like this. It isn't a bit fair."
"All right. Help me to hang up the rest of these clothes, and I'll tell you why I did it."
Mildred snatched up a small blouse waist and a couple of clothespins. What was the use of cooling off on Lake Michigan if one must return to this? How the sun did broil down!