Malcolm Dale."
Persis read this defiance twice, and her lips twitched. She turned toward the house, but by this time the children had espied her and shriekingly descended upon her, "like the plagues of Egypt," thought Mary, watching from the window.
"What makes you look that way?" cried Celia, clutching Persis' hand.
"I don't like it."
"What way, child?"
"As though you was a widow."
Persis laughed, thereby diminishing her resemblance to the mourner of Celia's fancy. With a child holding fast to each hand, and the others prancing about her and getting underfoot like so many kittens, she made her way indoors. "Children been good, Mary?"
"Why, yes'm," Mary admitted with reserve. "I gave Algie that cough mixture same as you said, and Malcolm he kept coughing fit to tear his throat to pieces. Betty says he likes the sirupy taste. And Celia teased the baby kissing her till she got her crying."
"I like the taste of the baby," remarked Celia, who had lent an attentive ear to the account of the family misdemeanors. "It's like tooth powder, the pink kind."
"A letter came for you, Miss Dale. Now, my gracious, what's happened to it? I put it right here on the table."