“Only way to stop the wolves! They always throw the children to them so the men and women can escape!” declared Sammy, with as much confidence as though he believed that in Russia children were born and bred for that purpose, and no other.
“Sammy Pinkney!” gasped Tess, herself disturbed now by Dot’s agony.
“You want to be eat up by the wolves?” demanded the panting Sammy, glaring at Dot and reaching forth one hand to seize the Alice-doll while he beat at the phantom wolves with the other. “Give her here!”
“I shan’t either!” declared Dot, recovering herself in some degree. “Sammy Pinkney! You always get up just the meanest plays—so there! I’d be eaten up by the wolves myself first, before I’d give ’em my Alice-doll!”
“Huh!” grumbled Sammy. “That’s just like a girl. Spoil everything every time and everywhere! Let the old wolves eat you, then! I don’t care,” and he shuffled away through the brown and gold leaves to uncover more shiny, brown nuts.
Agnes and Neale, who had looked on in some amazement, burst into laughter.
“Such young ones!” murmured the beauty sister.
“Can you beat ’em?” demanded Neale, who was about her own age and Agnes’ closest and dearest friend, bar none. “Where are Ruth and Luke?”
“I saw them wandering off through the woods,” replied Agnes, chuckling. “His hand was in her’n and her hand was in his’n——”
“You be good!” exclaimed Neale, grinning. “Dear me! They are getting soft on each other, aren’t they?”