“It isn’t my fault that I’m in that dormer,” began Margot, still good-humouredly. “Nurse put me in it; and I didn’t promise to go to the ‘Little House’ with you, Sybil. I only said I’d think about it. You’d much better be glad you didn’t go, instead of being so cross about it, because you might have been most awfully frightened, I know.”
“Who says I’m not going?” inquired Sybil, flouncing round angrily. “And who says we’re not going to have a feast? You and Gretta can walk about talking secrets, but I’ve got a secret, too.”
“Well, I’d meant to tell you part of ours,” Margot flared up at her irritating small cousin; “and now I’ve a good mind not to! Gretta!” she called, as her elder cousin opened the cloak-room door. “Here’s Sybil being a perfect baby! I can’t help being cross with her!”
“What! With auntie coming to-morrow!” The joyous sound in Gretta’s voice showed that her words were true.
“Oh, if that’s your secret!” Even the head-in-air Sybil unbent at the news. She pranced round the cloak-room in joy, hockey-stick in hand. Such, indeed, was the magic of Mrs. Fleming’s name that in five minutes, everything forgotten except that to-morrow would bring Auntie Tib, the three were off to the hockey-ground as gaily as though moods and mysteries had never been!
“‘Long Jake—why, it is you!’ cried Margot.” ([See page 150.])