"I do play with her," retorted Sarah irritably. "I play with her lots. But she likes Rosemary. I can't help it if she gets mad at me and goes to play with those Bailey children, can I? Rosemary is always practising."
This was not quite fair on Sarah's part, for Rosemary though devoted to her music and already an advanced pupil, seldom practised more than an hour in the morning and another in the afternoon. The fact was that six year old Shirley was developing the running-away habit at an alarming rate.
She came home late that afternoon, tired and cross, and to Rosemary's questions returned the briefest answers. Yes, she had been playing with the Bailey children. No, not in their yard. No, they had not gone with her when she went further on. She had gone by herself. Yes, she had had some lunch, a pound of sweet crackers.
"Where did you get them?" asked Rosemary, who was brushing the sunny hair.
"At the grocery," admitted Shirley.
"But you didn't have any money, dear, did you?" said Rosemary in surprise.
"I charged 'em—Mr. Holmes said it would be all right," announced Shirley complacently.
"Shirley Willis! And you know Mother positively never allows us to charge a thing unless she orders it," cried Rosemary. "What do you suppose Hugh would say? Did you eat a whole pound?"
No, Shirley confessed, she had had crackers to give away. She had given some to a strange dog and some to a little boy and girl she met.
"What little boy and girl?" demanded Rosemary, beginning to feel that this youngest sister was too much for her. "Where did you meet them?"