“Well, what of it? You’ve been there before, haven’t you?” Olga retorted.
“Yes, but this time I’m going all alone!”
Olga’s only reply was a swift mocking smile.
“I am—Olga Priest!” repeated Myra, stamping her foot angrily. “You all think me a coward—I’ll just show you!” and with that she whirled around and marched off, her chin up and her cheeks flushed.
As she passed a group of girls busy over beadwork, one of them called out, “What’s the matter, Bunny?”
Myra paused and faced them. “I’m going to walk to Kent’s Corners alone!” she cried defiantly.
A shout of incredulous laughter greeted that.
“Better give it up before you start, Bunny,” said one.
Another, with a mischievous laugh, whisked out her handkerchief and in a flash had twisted it into a rabbit with flopping ears. “Bunny, bunny, bunny!” she called, making the rabbit hop across her lap.
Myra’s blue eyes filled with angry tears. “You’re horrid, Louise Johnson!” she cried out. “You’re all horrid. But I’ll show you!” and with a glance that swept the whole laughing group, she threw back her head and marched on.