“Yer don’t come none o’ yer stuff over me,” was all the answer Thomas vouchsafed, still dragging them on with relentless hands.
“But it’s Cricket,” cried that victim, despairingly.
Thomas dropped his hold so suddenly that Cricket sat down very unexpectedly. Eunice pulled off her battered felt hat, and her long braid fell down her back.
Thomas, who had been completely taken in, stared at them.
“Why didn’t ye say so before?” he said, at length. “Gittin’ yerselves up in such rigs that yer own mar wouldn’t ha’ knowed ye. Kep’ a sayin’ ‘We’re not boys, we’re not boys,’ when anyone with half an eye could see ye was. Henderin’ me outer half an arternoon’s work,” and Thomas went off, disgusted.
The children looked at each other and burst out laughing. Their disguise had been altogether too successful. Cricket rubbed her shoulder comically.
“I guess Thomas’s fingers are tipped with steel,” she said. “I know I’m all black and blue.”
“Poor Cricket,” said Eunice, sympathetically. “First you were jammed into a hole and then you were shaken to jelly. I don’t see why he didn’t grab me.”
“It’s a peculiar concidence,” said Cricket, meaning coincidence. “No matter who’s around, I always am grabbed. Let’s go and get some plums.”
There were some choice early plums near the front of the house, and the children gathered a good supply and retired into a little rustic arbour to eat them. Presently a carriage full of callers rolled up the avenue.