“I don’t like her old steps,” said Kathie. They were sitting on a daisy bank near Mr. Medway’s.031
“Well, I do,” said Lu. “And you would, too, if you wasn’t so chunked. You just bounced up and down.”
Kathie burst out crying. “I’ll bet dancing steps is wicked, for you never was so mean before in your life, so! And you didn’t dance near so pretty as Winnie, and you needn’t think you ever will, for you never will!”
“Oh! I won’t, won’t I?” said Lu, teasingly.
“No, you won’t. I won’t be wicked and say you are nice, for you’re horrid.”
“You’re wicked this minute, Kathie Dysart, for you’re mad.”
And as she laughed a naughty laugh, and as Kathie glared back at her, then it was that that which happened began to happen. Lu’s delicate, rosy mouth commenced drawing up at the corners in an ugly fashion, and her nose commenced drawing down, while her dimpled chin thrust itself out in a taunting manner; but the horror of it was that she couldn’t straighten her lips, nor could she draw in her chin when she tried.
“You dis’gree’ble thing!” shrieked Kathie, looking at her and feeling dreadfully, her eyebrows knotting up like two little squirming snakes. “If I’m a Mother Bunch, you’re a bean-pole, and you’ll be an ugly old witch some day, and you’ll dry up and you’ll blow away.”032
By this time the two little pink starched sun-bonnets fairly stood on end at each other.
“Kathie Dysart, I’ll tell your Sunday-school teacher, see if I don’t.”