"I think Mrs. Anderson should apologize to us," announced Sarah with explosive suddenness. "She came over here telling tales and that is the meanest thing any one can do. You hate tale-bearers, you said so Hugh."
The doctor's long-suffering patience snapped.
"What Mrs. Anderson does is no concern of yours," he said testily. "If you do not go to her house immediately and apologize, Sarah, I'll march you over there and wait while you do it. I've listened to all the argument I intend to."
"I'll go," surrendered Sarah sullenly.
What she said could only be conjectured but apparently Mrs. Anderson was mollified for peace reigned the remainder of the week. Sunday afternoon though, a fresh storm broke, with Sarah again the center.
"Where's Sarah?" Doctor Hugh demanded, meeting Rosemary in the hall on his return from a round of calls.
Rosemary was dressed in white and ready for a sedate walk with Aunt Trudy.
"She's in your office, reading," she answered. "She likes the goat skin rug, you know."
"All right," nodded the doctor, "run along, chick, and tell Aunt Trudy to keep on the shady side of the street. The sun is blazing."
Sarah was not visible from the door, but walking around his desk, her brother discovered her stretched full length in her favorite reading attitude, on the white goat skin rug. Her book dealt with the health of cats.