'You see, Cecil is younger than you,' Miss Levering reminded her.
'Yes,' said Sara, with conscious superiority—'a whole year and eight months. But even when I was young I had sense.'
Miss Levering laughed. 'You're a horrid little Pharisee—and as wild as a young colt.' Contrary to received canons, the visitor seemed to find something reassuring in the latter reflection, for she kissed the small, self-righteous face.
'You just ought to have seen Sara this morning!' Cecil chuckled, with a generous admiration in family achievements. 'We waked up early, and Sara said, "Let's go mountaineering." So we did. All over the rocks and presserpittses.' He waved his hand comprehensively at the rugged scenery of the night-nursery.
'Of course we had to pile up the chairs and things,' his sister explained.
'And the coal scuttle.'
'And we made snow mountains out of the pillows. When the chairs wobbled, the coal and the pillows kept falling about; it was quite a real avalanche,' Sara said conversationally.
'I should think so,' agreed the guest.
'Yes; and it was glorious when Sara excaped to the top of the wardrobe.'
'To the w——' Miss Levering gasped.