“Oh, I will not accuse him of being the cause of that, Aggie,” said Ruth, pointing to the tear.
“You’re wrong,” retorted her sister with a sudden elfish smile. “If he had not chased me, to get those cherries I stole from him, I wouldn’t have caught my skirt on the nail and ‘tored’ it, as Dot would say.”
“Tomboy!” declared Ruth, rather scornfully.
“I don’t care,” Agnes said, biting off her thread. “I hope I’ll never be starched and stiff.”
“But you are getting older,” went on Ruth.
“Not too decrepit to run yet,” retorted Agnes, pertly.
Ruth laughed at that, and pinched her sister’s rosy cheek. “Nevertheless,” she said, “that is one of the skirts you will be obliged to wear on our tour.”
“Oh! Our tour!” cried Agnes, ecstatically, clasping her hands. “Ouch!”
“What is the matter?” demanded Ruth, startled by her sister’s squeal.
“Stuck my finger with this horrid needle,” mumbled Agnes, sucking the pricked digit.