“It was after three, and she waited for you till twenty minutes to five. Then she said she thought it would be interesting to go up to the orchard and gather apple-blossoms with rain-drops fresh on the petals. She said it would be poetic and erratic and a lot of fun. So she went. She said it would be more like a real genius if she went alone, and so I didn’t go with her. Besides that, she took my umbrella, and it isn’t big enough for two.”
“It is queer that she did not wait longer,” commented Berta wonderingly.
“She said it would be more whimsical and unexpected to stroll off in that eccentric way. She explained how she is being made over, Mother April, from the rag-bag of the world; and so she has to be different.”
“I hope that she gets very wet indeed,” said Berta, “and I don’t see why I should worry.”
Robbie’s voice answered, “Bea worried about you that day last fall when you went off alone in that storm to find fringed gentians. The branches were crashing down in the wind, and one girl had seen a tramp out on that lonely road. You said you could take care of yourself, but we worried.”
“Oh, that was different,” exclaimed Berta. “I am perfectly capable of judging for myself. But Bea is such a scatterbrain that I can’t help feeling”—she hesitated, then added as if to herself, “There isn’t any sense in feeling responsible. She is old enough——”
“I can’t hear when you mumble,” called Robbie.
“Bea is an awful idiot,” replied Berta in a louder key. “Did you catch that valuable bit of information, Robbie Belle?”
“It sounds,” spoke Robbie with unexpected astuteness, “as if you are really worrying after all.”
“Does it?” groaned Berta; “well, then I am an idiot too.”