"She's taking it back to some one," said Kent.
"Poor thing," said Lydia.
"Poor thing!" sniffed Kent. "It would be a good thing if they were all dead. My father says so."
"Well, I guess your father don't know everything," snapped Lydia.
"Evyfing," said Patience, who had finished her lunch and was digging in the sand.
Kent paused in the beginning of his attack on his last sandwich to look Lydia over. She was as thin as a half-grown chicken in her wet bathing suit. Her damp curls, clinging to her head and her eyes a little heavy with heat and weariness after her morning of play, made her look scarcely older than Patience. Kent wouldn't confess, even to himself, how fond he was of Lydia.
"Here," he said gruffly. "I can't eat this sandwich. Mother made me too many. And here's a doughnut."
"Thanks, Kent," said Lydia meekly. "What do you want to play, after lunch?"
"Robinson Crusoe," replied Kent promptly. "You'll have to be
Friday."
As recipient of his bounty, Lydia recognized Kent's advantage and conceded the point without protest.