“If you like, I’ll show you over the stables, and where we played circus back of the harness room, and Phil’s rabbit warren, and how to climb the pear-tree in the garden without breaking your neck, and—”
“Thank you very much,” interrupted Doris; “but, we are not interested in vulgar romps of that character; are we, Allerton?”
“They—they sound rather interesting,” he submitted, eyeing Becky a little wistfully.
“Perhaps, for village children,” returned the girl, haughtily. “But although we are now living in the country we should remember our breeding and try to instill some of our native culture into these primitive surroundings, rather than sink our refinement to the level of the community.”
“L-a-w—zee!” cried Becky, again. Then, in spite of her effort to be “good” she laughed in Doris’ face, bobbing her frouzled red head up and down as peal after peal of genuine merriment burst from her slim throat.
Allerton frowned and Doris looked grieved and sad. Positively, this country girl was laughing at their expense.
“I—I can’t help it!” chuckled Becky, trying to control herself. “It’s—it’s too good to keep. I must go an’ tell the kids before I—I bust with it all! Bye-bye, Doris. See you again soon. ‘Or river,’ Allerton! Guess I’ll call you Al. Come over an’ get acquainted.”
She had backed away one step at a time, still bubbling with hysterical laughter that she could not control, and at the final words turned and dashed across the street like mad, her thin legs twinkling beneath her short skirts.
“Well,” said Don, as Becky threw herself down upon the porch and shook with an abandon of glee; “tell us the joke, Beck. What’s happened?”
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” was all the reply.