“How can you be so ridiculous!” said Sophy. “See, you have made the poor child cry.”
“With passion, my dear, which is a very wicked thing, as I am sure my Aunt Kezia would tell her. A little castor oil would—”
“What is that about your Aunt Kezia?” came in another voice from the doorway.
Oh, I was so glad to see her!
“Hoity-toity! why, what is all this, girls?” said she, severely. “Hester, what are you doing? What is Cary crying for?”
“Hatty is teasing her, Aunt,” said Fanny. “She is always doing it, I think.”
“Give me that book, Hester,” said my Aunt Kezia; and Hatty passed it to her without a word. “Now, whom does this book belong?”
“It is mine, Aunt Kezia,” I said, as well as my sobs would let me; “and Hatty has found it, and she is teasing me dreadfully about it.”
“What is it, my dear?” said my Aunt Kezia.
“It is my diary, Aunt Kezia; and I did not want Hatty to get hold of it.”