"Yes. That used to be a daily stunt of hers, and—I let her," added the man, a little doggedly. "It made her well and strong, anyhow, and helped to develop her muscle. You see, we—we don't have gymnasiums on the ranch," he concluded whimsically, as they stepped together out on to the back gallery.
A babel of gleeful shouts and laughter greeted their ears. A moment later Mr. Hartley and Cordelia came in sight of the windmill. At its base four chattering, shrieking girls were laughing and clapping their hands. Above their heads, Genevieve, in a dark blue gymnasium suit, was swinging herself gracefully from cross-piece to cross-piece in the tower.
"You see," smiled Mr. Hartley; but he was interrupted by a shocked, frightened voice behind him.
"Genevieve, my dear!" gasped Mrs. Kennedy, hurrying forward.
Genevieve did not hear, apparently. To the girls she waved a free hand, joyously. She was almost at the top.
"It's fine—mighty fine up here," she caroled. "I can see 'way, 'way over the prairie!"
"Genevieve! Genevieve Hartley, come down this instant," commanded Mrs. Kennedy. Then her voice shook, and grew piteously frightened, as she stammered: "No, no—don't come down, dear! Genevieve, how can you come down?" Mrs. Kennedy was wringing her hands now.
This time Genevieve heard.
"Why, Aunt Julia, what is it? What is the matter?" The girl's voice expressed only concerned surprise.
"What is the matter?" echoed Mrs. Kennedy, faintly. "Genevieve, how can you come down?"