Aunt Janet was in a very good humour that morning, so she merely laughed.
“Not if you don’t go too far with your nonsense,” she said tolerantly.
“Thank you. And will you give me a handful of hard peas after breakfast, Aunt Janet? I want to put them in my shoes.”
“There isn’t any; I used the last in the soup yesterday.”
“Oh!” The Story Girl was much disappointed. “Then I suppose I’ll have to do without. The new peas wouldn’t hurt enough. They’re so soft they’d just squash flat.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Peter, “I’ll pick up a lot of those little round pebbles on Mr. King’s front walk. They’ll be just as good as peas.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Aunt Janet. “Sara must not do penance in that way. She would wear holes in her stockings, and might seriously bruise her feet.”
“What would you say if I took a whip and whipped my bare shoulders till the blood came?” demanded the Story Girl aggrieved.
“I wouldn’t SAY anything,” retorted Aunt Janet. “I’d simply turn you over my knee and give you a sound, solid spanking, Miss Sara. You’d find that penance enough.”
The Story Girl was crimson with indignation. To have such a remark made to you—when you were fourteen and a half—and before the boys, too! Really, Aunt Janet could be very dreadful.