“He never told us what it was!” he wailed to Jane.
“I wonder how he guessed about the apples so soon?” speculated Jane in reply. “I’ve played in the orchard ’most every day. I guess it was because you were playing with me.”
“Mean-y! Trying to put the blame on me! It was because you looked so queer and yellow, like biscuit dough.”
“I didn’t look any yellower than you. And I didn’t double up and howl, so there,” retorted Jane, indignantly.
Christopher was silenced for a moment by this home-thrust. Then he called triumphantly:
“I had a right to look yellower than you, ’cause I ate more apples. And I think I know what the good news is. The circus is comin’ day after to-morrow. I heard grandfather tell Mrs. Hartwell-Jones so.”
“Oh, Kit, how fine! Wouldn’t you just love to go?”
“We are going. Grandfather said we might when I first asked him.”
“Yes, I know, but perhaps he’ll change his mind now and not let us go, to punish us for being naughty about the apples.”
“But he promised! He’ll have to keep his word.”