“Lanty!” said Mabella, and in an instant he was grave.
“Dear girl,” he said, “you don’t think I would do anything to make you feel badly?”
The warning shriek of the whistle came to them.
“See, tie this round my neck, will you?”
She folded it with an adorable air of anxiety and precision, and stood on tiptoe to lay it on his shoulders and again on tiptoe to knot it under his chin, a process Lanty rendered arduous by putting down his chin and imprisoning her hands, a performance he found most satisfying. But at length he was off, and Mabella watched him round the corner of the barn, and then went indoors to attack the chaos upon the table with a good heart.
“Where’s Vashti?” she asked.
“Spooning her young man in the garding,” said Sally, emerging from her shell.
“Of all the impses I ever see!” ejaculated Temperance. “G’long and fetch in some wood.” Sally departed.
“Vashti’s in the garden peeling apples for supper,” continued Temperance to Mabella, with an attempt at unconsciousness. Mabella gave her a hug.