“Yaller, indeed! Stop the Wagon!”
“I should like to say—”
“A dark-eyed, yaller girl! Stop the Wagon,—and consider our engagement at an end.”
“Will you let me—”
But Claribelle shook her head furiously, and in her rage tried to jump out of the Wagon. So the Driver, fearing she would break her neck, did as she requested and pulled up his horse, when she immediately alighted. Then she swept away, flouncing her pink silk dress, and with her head in the air.
The Driver called later and tried to pacify her, but she would not listen. She only turned her back upon him—which was a very rude thing to do—and persisted in saying that their engagement was at an end.
So the Wagoner whipped up his horse and went away sad and sorry. He looked, indeed, so sad that the haughty Claribelle nearly repented of her pride and was just about to call him back.
“But he’ll return to-morrow,” she said to herself, “and he must be taught not to make false remarks about my complexion. Fancy calling me ‘yaller!’”
The next day he came as she expected.
“Do I still look yaller?” Claribelle asked scornfully.