“Well, anyway, now that you’re here, come on into my room, I’ve got a whale of a box of candy,” little Kitty Joyce invited.
When they were all seated in her dainty room, Phyllis said, shyly:
“I wish somebody would explain to me about this rivalry; I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain!” Louise jumped up and stood in the middle of the floor, her hands behind her back.
“We are two distinct and separate wings,” she began, “and we represent the old and the new. For some reason that nobody will ever understand, a spirit of rivalry started between the two years ago, when we were very new. Now it is an established fact. We fight in games, in art and in lessons for the glory of our wings, and even at the risk of being rude,” she added with a little twinkle in her eye, “I’m going to state last year our house won everything.”
“Everything but archery, history, composition and dramatics,” Prue reminded her gravely.
“Oh, pouf!” Kitty laughed. “Those don’t count. We won the tennis cup, the running cup, the art prize, for sculpture and painting.”
“That was last year,” said Sally severely.
They munched the candy for a while in silence, and then Kitty said slowly:
“Funny thing the way the wings feel about each other. Why, look at you, Sally. You were awfully good friends with Alice Bard, and she was a new wing girl....”