"You'd better not," laughed Ernestine. "Olive's out there sketching, and she'll take your head off with her usual sweetness, if you bother any."
"Who cares? I'm going. Come on Kittie."
"No let's not; it's cool here," returned Kittie lazily. "Where have you been Ernestine, all rigged in your best?"
"Been at home pining for some place to go," said Ernestine drawing the sewing from Bea's hand, and leaning over into that sister's lap with a caressive gesture. "Say Bea, dear, Miss Neilson is going to be in New York next week, and I want you to ask pa if he won't take us again; won't you?"
"Not fair," cried Kat; "this is our turn."
"You, indeed; nothing but children! Will you, Bea? He will listen more if you ask because you're not so frivolous as I am."
"Yes, I'll ask. I'd love to go again," said Bea with girlish delight in anticipating such a bliss as the repetition of going to the city and to the theatre. "What play would you like to see?"
"Romeo and Juliet again," cried Ernestine eagerly. "Oh Bea, beg him to, for there are some other parts that I want to see how to do."
"Do!" echoed Kittie, "Whatever do you mean?"
"Just what I say. I'll show you how they do; shall I, Bea?" exclaimed Ernestine, springing gayly into the sunshine and striking an attitude.