It swung lazily in the light breeze of the morning. Not slothfully, but in the relaxation of resting strength prepared instantly to meet its burdens and responsibilities. It was well that this was so. Upon the self-same breeze which swung it, came sounds of laughter and the patter of small feet. With sudden strain and elastic resistance, carried even to the uppermost twigs of the trees, the hammock received the two girls as they precipitated themselves into its lap.
“I beat,” cried Helen with the pride of victory, changed suddenly into a wail of anguish as a dislodged Bell-flower apple dropped upon her head. “Oh-o-o-o,” she groaned; “those apples make me mad. This is the second time that one of them has struck me on the head and I am getting tired of it.”
In her own end of the hammock Virginia was coiled in a most precarious position. She was so interested in her letter that she failed to give her cousin the full measure of tender sympathy to which that maiden felt herself entitled.
Helen rubbed her head with vigor. “Say something ‘V.’ Is anything the matter with your heart?” she exclaimed, fixing reproachful eyes upon her absorbed companion.
“Did it hurt?” Virginia, deep in her letter, politely inquired. Her words, however, lacked that warm condolence for which the head and heart of her cousin yearned.
“Did it hurt?” mimicked Helen in disgust. “What a question! It is exactly as bad as if a brick had fallen off the chimney on my head. Yet you sit there and ask if it hurt. What do you think my head is made of?”
“Fudge,” cried Virginia as the wind twisted her letter so that she could not read it.
“Wh-a-at?” Helen was highly indignant until she discovered that her cousin’s remark was not a personal allusion. “Never mind,” she threatened; “see how I treat you the next time that you get hurt.”
Virginia finished her letter. She wiggled over towards Helen, an operation which placed both girls in imminent danger of being pitched upon their faces. “I am sorry for your poor head, dear,” she giggled, “or should I be sorry for the apple? Let me look.”
Helen thrust aside the inquisitive fingers. “Let me alone, you unsympathetic wretch. Wait until my turn comes. Even if you writhe before me in great agony, I shall laugh. Laugh coldly–ha–ha.”