“Why?”
“Oh, because. ’Cause they’re girls, you know.”
Uncle Joe looked up from reading the brief, courteous note and felt that that, added to the boy’s own manner, made it safe for him to entrust his guest to Michael’s care for a short time.
“Very well, Josephine. Mrs. Merriman, my neighbor, whom I know but slightly, yet is kind to you, requests that I allow you to play with her grandson for an hour. You may do so. But put on your cloak and hat and overshoes, if you have them.”
“I haven’t, Uncle Joe. But I don’t need them. My shoes are as thick as thick. See? Oh, I’m so glad. I never rode on a red sled in all my life, and now I’m going to. Once my papa rode on sleds. He and you—I mean that other uncle, away up in New York somewhere. He’s seen snow as high as my head, my papa has. I never. I never saw only the teeniest-teeniest bit before. It’s lovely, just lovely. If it wasn’t quite so cold. To ride on a sled, a sled, like papa!”
Josephine was anything but quiet now. She danced around and around the room, pausing once and again to hug her uncle, who submitted to the outbursts of affection with wonderful patience, “considerin’,” as Peter reflected.
“What did you ride on, the other side the map?” asked Michael, laying his hand on her arm to stop her movements.
“Why—nothing, ’xcept burros.”
“Huh! Them! Huh! I ride a regular horse in the summer-time, I do. Go get ready, if you’re going. I can’t stand here all day. The fellows are outside now, whistling. Don’t you hear them?”
“But I said she might go with you, because you are—well, your grandmother’s grandson. I didn’t say she might hob-nob with Tom, Dick and Harry.”