“Isn’t he sunburnt?” said Helen; “but do, mamma, look at Allan and his friend.”
“Well,” said Allan, “what colour are we?”
“Oh, just like flower-pots,” said Helen, laughing.
That same afternoon Allan was sitting talking to Rory in his “sulky,” when in burst Ralph. He had just returned from a long walk with his father, and he was looking all over joyous.
“Why, what do you think, boys?” he cried, rubbing his hands, and then making believe to punch Allan in the ribs; “what do you think, old man?” he added.
“Something very nice, I’ll be bound,” said Allan, “or staid steady Ralph would not be so far off his balance.”
“It is pleasant in the extreme,” said Ralph, taking a seat in front of them, “and so very unexpected too.
“Now guess what it is.”
“Oh; but we can’t, we never could,” said his friends.
“Out with it, Ralph,” cried Allan, “don’t keep us in ‘tig-tire.’”