"After we are rested," responded Amy. "The sun is still hot. Your rugs and the spread are beautiful."
As the girls sat down on the piazza, Priscilla turned to Amy. "You did not think those rugs really beautiful?"
Amy did not resent this slight touch of reproach, even though Priscilla was so much her junior.
"Yes, and no. Some of them were beautiful even from my point of view. They all were from that of their owner, and since she desired to please us by showing them, it seemed only fair to reward her with a word of praise."
"But if every one praises her she will go on using those terrible aniline colors. They made my head ache just to look at them."
"Oh, Priscilla, you are so precise I'll call you 'Prim' as well as 'Prissie.'"
"No one else calls me 'Prissie,' Martine."
"No one else dares tease you. Probably your little brothers and sisters are frightened to death of you, and then, because you are the oldest, you have always been made to think that you are absolutely perfect."
"Oh, Martine!"
"There, there, I know just how it is. It's so in our family; I have an elder brother, and he has always been held up as a model, although, between you and me, he's far from perfect. It just keeps me busy, showing him his faults. So, Miss Prissie, if you are too old-maidish I'll have to show you yours."