“Come away, Doris,” said the boy, taking his sister’s hand. “It is some common village child. I am sure mamma won’t care to have us know her.”
Becky threw back her head with a merry laugh.
“Don was right, you know,” she said, nodding. “He sized you up in a jiffy, an’ from ’way over there, too,” indicating the porch from whence she had come.
“Who is Don, pray?” asked Doris, in quiet, ladylike tones; “and in what way was he right?”
“Don’s my brother,” was the reply; “an’ he jus’ gave one squint at your brother an’ said he was a snob.”
“Me—a snob!” cried the boy, indignantly.
“That’s what he said. Funny how he spotted you so quick, isn’t it?”
“Come, Doris. It is an insult,” he said, his face growing red as he tugged at Doris’ hand.
“Wait a moment, Allerton; we must return good for evil. Evidently the poor child does not know she has been rude,” remarked the girl, primly.
Becky gave a gasp of astonishment.