“You tooked my dolly and hided her, and I cried!” put in Zaidee, joining the attacking force.
“And I know who’s a sneak, and told on Mabel Wilson, when none of the other girls would!” cried Eunice.
“You’re the selfishest, meanest old thing!” it was Cricket’s turn again. She had gotten hold of Kenneth now, and he was clinging with both arms around the neck of his favourite sister.
“To pour that horrid, dirty water down his throat, just to tease him,” went on Cricket, furiously. “I’ll never forgive you, and I won’t play with you any more, forever ’n’ ever, ’n’ I wish you’d go home this moment, Hilda Mason, there!”
Hilda stared helplessly, as the unexpected words rained around her. Could they be really talking to her? Was it her little Cricket who was blazing like a little fury, and actually telling her to go home? She was quite too frightened to speak, at first, as the angry group around her all talked at once.
“I didn’t mean,” she faltered, at last; then she, too, burst into angry tears. “You’re horrid, rude girls to say such things to company,” she sobbed. “I’m going straight home to tell mamma how you treated me, and she’ll never let me come here again.”
“You’d better go right away, Miss Hilda,” said nurse, dryly, and she brought the little girl’s hat and put on her sacque. Hilda had never been at all a favourite with her, for she had often seen her slyly tease the little ones.
Hilda marched off abused, excited and angry. The idea—the very idea of such language to her, to Hilda Mason, whom everybody called so good, and who was used to being held up as the model child of the neighbourhood.
HILDA BY THE BROOK.