“Oh, Auntie Mard’ret,” said Amy, solemnly, “they’s jes’ is bad is they kin be—awful words! I couldn’t never tell you.”
Margaret insisted that she must be told, and after much reluctance on Amy’s part, and a demanded banishment of Ethel and Dee to the other end of the room, she put her arms around her cousin’s neck, and whispered in awe-struck, mysterious tones:
“I was thinkin’ of devil and beast.”
Margaret caught the little creature in her arms and kissed her repeatedly, in the midst of such a merry outburst of laughter as made reproof impossible.
Amy, who seemed greatly relieved to have rid her conscience of this burden, without any penance in consequence, ran off to play with the other children, and Margaret had just cut the leaves of a new magazine she had brought up with her and begun to look over the illustrations, when she became aware of a commotion among the children at the other end of the room and a confusion of excited voices. Presently little Decourcy came running toward her in much perturbation, and said, with a rising sob:
“Auntie Mard’rit, is I a bullabulloo? Amy says I’se a bullabulloo. Now, is I?”
“No, Dee,” said Margaret, soothingly, “you are no such thing. Tell Amy I say you are not.”
Dee ran back to the closet, on the floor of which Amy was seated dressing her doll, and Margaret heard him say, triumphantly:
“Auntie Mard’rit says I’se not no bullabulloo.”
Amy, taking a pin out of her mouth to fasten the insufficient scrap of ribbon which she had been straining around her daughter’s clumsy waist, looked up into his face with great, serious eyes, and said mysteriously: