“No, I wasn’t,” said Penelope, who turned scarlet and then white. “It was vinegar—real vinegar. It was to pale me.”
“Oh, don’t talk to her!” said Patty. “She is too silly for anything. Go away, baby, and play with sister Marjorie, and don’t talk any more rubbish.”
“You call me baby?” said Penelope, coming close to the last speaker, and standing with her arms akimbo. “You call me baby? Then I will ask you a question. Who were the people that walked across the lawn on the night of Paulie’s birthday? Who was the three peoples who walked holding each other’s hands?—little peoples with short skirts—little peoples about the size of you, maybe; and about the size of Briar, maybe; and about the size of Paulie, maybe. Who was they? You answer me that. They wasn’t ghostses, was they?”
Briar turned pale; Patty glanced at her. Adelaide, who had watchful blue eyes, turned and looked from one sister to the other.
“You are talking rubbish,” said Briar. “Go and play.”
“Who was they?” repeated Pen.
“I don’t know.”
“Am I baby or big wise girl?”
“Oh, you are an infant Solomon! I don’t know who the people were.”
“Don’t you?”