Mary glanced quickly at her brother, and said, "Why, Myron, whatever are you trying to do?"
Tommy piped up. "I guess he's going to take 'em home to eat on the way."
"I am not!" said Myron hotly, stung into self-defence as usual by his brother. "I am not! Going to take it home to mamma and Gwenny. I haven't had a speck more'n my share. I counted every time, and everybody had four cookies 'cept Tommy. He had six. And I saved my sandwich out, and the jell!"
Tears stood in Mary's eyes. "But it isn't polite, Myron, to take anything away without asking and, anyway, I know mamma and Gwenny will be satisfied to just hear about our good time, and they wouldn't want you to do such a thing." She tried to put the cookies back on the table but Myron clung to them stubbornly.
"No, no!" he said. "They are my things! I went without 'em, and I want to take them home to mamma and Gwenny. Gwenny never had any cookies like those. And the jell is so pretty. I put a egg in my pocket too." Myron's lip trembled, but he did not cry although Tommy giggled openly.
"Of course you shall take them home to your mother! Who is Gwenny—your dog?" asked Rosanna.
"Gwenny is my sister!" said Myron furiously.
Rosanna felt that she always said the wrong thing.
"Oh, excuse me, Myron," she said meekly.
A shade of sorrow passed over Mary's bright little face as she said, "Gwenny can never go anywhere with us. She is sick, and never goes anywhere."