“Jo and David picked them, you naughty girl, and talked of naught but you while they did it.”
“Betty, Betty, here’s Alick Standish coming this way, and don’t you blush; now mind you, Betty, don’t you blush! Fie! but you do! What makes her hate Alick so, Sally?” asked Gillian maliciously.
“Who hates Alick?” asked the cheery voice of the good-looking “heir apparent” of Myles Standish, who had obeyed a glance of Gillian’s eyes and joined the group.
“Who but the one who colors red as fire with vexation when he draws nigh,” replied the girl coolly; and Standish, curiously regarding the faces of the three, perceived that both Betty’s and Sally’s faces were aflame, while Gillian’s cream-white skin looked cool as a calla lily.
“Are you paring the apples I picked, Gillian?” asked another voice as David Alden joined the group.
“Nay, for ’twas Satan who first plucked an apple for a woman,” replied Jill, with a mocking little laugh; and Alick whispered in her ear, “There’s ne’er a son of Adam would refuse if you offered him the apple, Gillian.”
“What! not if he lost Paradise thereby?”
“The paradise of your love would”—
“Oh, Master Pabodie, do come and reason with these terrible blasphemers who are talking of Satan and nobody can tell what else. Say to Master Pabodie what you were saying to me, Alick!”