But Sue drew back, shaking her curls, positively.
“I don’t like ’em, Becky. They—they’re not our style, I’m ’fraid. You can go—if you dare.”
One thing Becky couldn’t do, was to “take a dare.” She was not really anxious to make the pilgrimage alone, but having suggested it, she turned a comical look upon the others and said:
“All right. Here goes.”
Don gave a snort of disdain and Sue laughed. It would be fun to watch their reckless sister and see what she did.
Becky Daring was not the beauty of the family, by any means. Her hair was a glaring, painful red; her face long, thin and freckled; her nose inclined to turn upward. But Becky’s hazel eyes were splendid and sparkled so continuously with humor and mischief that they won for her more smiles and friendly words than she really deserved. Auntie had despaired long ago of trying to make Becky look neat and tidy, and at fourteen she was growing so fast that she shot out of her gowns as if by magic, and you could always see more of her slim legs and sunburned wrists than was originally intended. She was not dainty, like little Sue, nor calm and composed like beautiful Phœbe; but Becky enjoyed life, nevertheless, and had a host of friends.
One of her shoes became untied as she crossed the road to where the Randolph children stood. She placed her foot on the stone coping at the sidewalk and, as she fastened the knot, said with her slow Southern drawl:
“Good mawnin’. I s’pose you’re our new neighbors.”
The boy and girl, standing side by side, looked at her solemnly.
“Come to stay, I guess, haven’t you?” continued Becky, inspecting them carefully at close range.