“She is
an old
Grunt!”
“My,” said Mary Frances, returning to the sewing room, “aren’t they the dear old dears, talking together! A cup of tea and those two old ladies—there’s nothing under the sun they can’t think of—from Noah-and-the-ark to Forever-more! I wonder if I can finish Mary Marie’s pinafore. I’m going to make Angie a lot of clothes like Mary Marie’s.”
“Will the Old Grunt be back?” Scissors Shears was looking up at Mary Frances.
“Who?” asked Mary Frances.
“The Old Grunt,” said Scissors Shears, “fussin’ and gruntin’ over everything. We looked all right. She scared us—if we hadn’t dropped where we were she might have found out about us—and if she’d found out about us—we’d been Never-Nevers.”
“You must not call names,” said Mary Frances, gravely.
“She is an Old Grunt! So there! It was my work to teach you to make button-holes, and I so wanted to do it!” burst out Button-hole Scissors, excitedly.
He spread his funny little legs apart and looked up at Mary Frances most forlornly.