“He shall go, Ruth Kenway—so there! He can squeeze in on the seat between Neale and me. Here! take that bag up, Neale O’Neil. There’s room for it right in here,” and she pointed. “Now! stop your crying, Sammy. You shall go; but you’ll have to be good.”
“Oh, Aggie,” cried the happy youngster, “I’ll be as good as gold. You’ll see.”
“Well!” gasped Ruth, yet not sorry that for once Agnes had usurped authority.
Mrs. Heard laughed. Dot said:
“Well, it’s true. He hasn’t any sister.”
“And I’m sure he can be good,” put in Tess, the optimist.
Neale was chuckling to himself as he put Sammy’s suitcase in the place indicated.
“What is the matter with you, Neale O’Neil?” demanded Agnes, hotly, brushing the tears out of her eyes.
“I was just thinking that this party has assumed a good deal of a contract,” said the light-haired boy.
“What for?”