“Dear Auntie!” sighed Janice. “Why do you do it?”
“Do what?” asked the large lady, startled.
“Why are you a sheep? Why do you follow after all the other sheep? I’m sure you can’t think these extremes of fashion pretty or modest.”
“You talk like a reg’lar old woman, Janice Day!” exclaimed her aunt. “What’s prettiness got to do with it? Ain’t it the style? Ye might as well be dead an’ buried, an’ so save yer board, as to be out of style,” declared the excited Mrs. Day. “And I’m a-goin’ to keep up with the fashions, if it don’t break either my back or my pocketbook. If I can’t lead the fashions, I kin foller them an’ make a decent showin’ for the Day family.”
“That’s exactly it,” murmured Janice. “Is it decent?” But Aunt ’Mira did not hear. Marty came rushing in at this point and sprung his bomb.
“My goodness, Janice!” he cried. “What you goin’ to do? They say Elder Concannon’s swore out a warrant for you!”
“What’s that you’re sayin’, Marty Day?” demanded his mother. “You’re always comin’ home with your jokes; but you needn’t try to frighten Janice.”
“Well, it’s so now! Isn’t it, Janice?”
“You behave, Marty!” commanded his father, without waiting for Janice to reply.
“Perhaps Marty tells the truth,” said his cousin quietly.