The Gray Gentleman quietly slipped her crutches under the cripple’s arms, and seizing Jimmy’s hand walked swiftly away.
Both girls looked after him with regret but he neither glanced back nor expected them to follow. Then they regarded each other with curiosity, till Mary Jane remembered she was the hostess.
“Let’s sit down,” she said pointing to the grass.
Bonny-Gay hesitated, and, seeing this, the other whisked off her apron and spread it for her guest. “You might spoil your dress, that’s so. Salt and lemon juice’ll take out grass-stain. My mother uses that when there’s spots on the ‘wash.’”
“Does she? I wasn’t thinking of my frock, though, but of that;” answered the visitor, pointing to a “Keep Off” sign behind them.
“Oh! that? Nobody minds that. You see, this is our park now. We play where we choose, only on the terraces and slopey places. You’d better use my apron though, it’s such a splendid dress. Your mother would feel bad if you smirched it.”
“I suppose she would. She’s very particular.”
“So’s mine. They say she’s the very neatest woman in Dingy street. The neighbors say it.”
“And our cook says mine is the ‘fussiest’ one in the Place. That might be some of the ‘sister’ part, mightn’t it?”
“It might. Only, course, he’s just fooling.”