“Don’t speak so, Dottie,” admonished Tess. “That would be dreadful!”
“What? Dreadful if he didn’t get to be a pirate?” Agnes asked lightly.
But Tess was serious. “I don’t believe Sammy Pinkney is fit to die,” she declared.
“For pity’s sake!” exclaimed Miss Pepperill. “She talks like her grandmother. I never heard such a child as you are, Theresa. But perhaps you are right about Sammy. He’s one awful trial.”
“But his mother was crying,” said Tess, softly.
Nobody said anything more to the tender-hearted little girl; but Dot brought her the nicest piece of “Christmas” candy in the dish—a long, curly, striped piece, and Agnes hugged her.
Ruth was worried a little about the dinner arrangements. The meal was almost ready to serve, but Neale O’Neil had not come over from Mr. Con Murphy’s, where he lived.
“You were cross with him, Agnes, and he won’t come back,” she said accusingly to the beauty. “And Mrs. MacCall won’t wait.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t disappoint us!” declared Agnes. “He knows we depend on him. Why, half our fun will be spoiled—”
“He evidently isn’t coming to dinner.”