“It’s nothing of the kind, you horrid, little troublesome thing,” said Harriet. “I am not going to take you to see the gipsies to-day—no, nor any day, for the present. Oh, stop that blubbering, or I’ll smack you.”
“You did once before,” said Ralph steadily, and he looked her full in the face, tears arrested in his eyes, and his own colour coming and going.
Harriet immediately saw that she had gone too far. She altered her tone.
“Please forgive me, Ralph,” she said. “I know I am cross; I wanted so very much to go to that picnic, and I can’t because of you.”
“I don’t understand,” said Ralph. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yes,” said Harriet crossly; “that’s not the question. You are considered a baby, and you must be treated as one.”
“I aren’t a baby!” said Ralph, in great indignation. “Father said I am a real manly boy.”
“Well, prove yourself one,” said Harriet. “Don’t cry when I speak a little sharply, and don’t worry me about the gipsies. I will take you to see them when I can, because I promised to take you; but you’re not to remind me of them, for if you do I’ll be very angry.”
“I won’t ever, ever speak of them again,” said Ralph, gulping down a sob.
“Well, that’s all right,” said Harriet. She moved restlessly across the lawn. Curly Pate and the other small children were tumbling about on the grass. Ralph looked longingly at Curly Pate. Curly Pate clapped her pretty hands, and ran to meet him.