“Something like playing ‘This year, next year, some time, never,’ with a holly leaf!”
“Hum-m! You see you might ask that Kullibígan guessing-top which of you were going to die young—you sitting round among the Camp Fire Girls—an’ it mightn’t topple your way at all.”
The Doomed One crowed triumphantly; Kullibígan had sent the orchard spectre that stalked her scampering, when Mary-Jane Peg had failed to root him out.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SUGARLOAF
“It’s a long way to shore now,
It’s a long way to go!”
So sang a laughing voice to the blossoming wave that was barely two inches below the singer’s lips!
So full of frolic was that voice chanting amid the foam, as the white-flowering waves broke about a girl-swimmer, that it would be hard for an onlooker to believe that those tidal waves, themselves, were not sentient sharers of her joy.
“It’s a long way to shore now,