“Where’s Peachy?” Julia asked casually the next afternoon.
“I’ve been wondering where she was, too,” Lulu answered. “I think she must have slept late this morning. I haven’t seen her all day.”
“Is Angela with the children now?” Julia went on.
“I suppose so,” Lulu replied. She lifted herself from the couch. Shading her hands, she studied the group at the water’s edge. Honey-Boy and Peterkin were digging wells in the sand. Junior making futile imitative movements, followed close at their heels. Near the group of women, Honey-Bunch crept across the mat of pine-needles, chasing an elusive sunbeam. “No, she’s not there.”
“Now that I think of it, Angela didn’t come to play with Peterkin this morning,” said Clara. “Generally she comes flying over just after breakfast.”
“You don’t suppose Peachy’s ill,” asked Chiquita, “or Angela.”
“Oh, no!” Lulu answered. “Ralph would have told one of us.”
“Here she comes up the trail now,” Chiquita exclaimed. “Angela’s with her.”
“Yes—but what’s the matter?” Lulu cried.
“She’s all bent over and she’s staggering.”