"Oh, mercy," cried Ernestine, with her gay laugh, far more tantalizing than the sharpest words. "If having sense would make me look like you, I'd never want it,—never."
Olive jumped from her seat with a force that knocked the chair over, and startled the whole company.
"Ernestine Dering," she cried fiercely, and as though the words almost choked her. "You are the most heartless, selfish, senseless creature, that ever lived; I never will forgive you! You haven't got a thought above looking like a wax doll, and acting like a ninny, and I hate you;—there!"
"Well—if—I—ever," cried Kittie, as Olive vanished with a bang of the door that woke Jean and made Bea clap her hands to her aching head.
"You ought to be ashamed," exclaimed Kat, glaring over her bandage. "Olive's the best one of the lot, and I've three minds to go and tell her so."
"And have your head taken off for your pains," said Ernestine, walking over to the glass, and smiling at her own unruffled image. "Olive's a touchy goose, but I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, and I'm sorry for it; so that's the best I can do now, isn't it?"
"I suppose so, unless it is to think once in a while, that there is some one in the world with feelings, besides yourself," answered Bea, jerking her unruly sewing, and getting crosser than ever as she ran her needle into her finger.
"Dear me," cried Ernestine, throwing her hands up, and admiring them in the glass. "It's a sure sign that something is going wrong with this family, when you get cross, Bea."
"I'm not an angel," grumbled Bea, then threw her sewing down, and gave herself a shake, both mentally and physically. "But there's no need of my acting like a bear, and I'm really ashamed. Come sit on my lap, Jean, you look terribly grieved."
"Well, 'tisn't very pleasant with mama gone, and you all fussing so," answered Jean, limping over with her crutch, and laying her head on Bea's shoulder with a sigh. "If you all were lame awhile, you'd be so glad to get straight again, that you never would fuss or scold, never."