Here, on this hot day, Nina found her two sisters with their pink muslin frills in a cloud about them, while they themselves were bending over the work. Nina appeared, severely armed with a pencil and paper. “Now,”—she said—“here I am.”
“Well, that is very evident,” remarked Fanchon. “Why don’t you sit down and do some work?” said Josephine.
“My frock hasn’t got any flounces.”
“Oh—how you will harp on that tiresome theme again!”
“I won’t—at least not for much longer,” remarked the tiresome child; “but I’ve got something to say—I mean to do a little sum.”
“A sum!—you?”
“Yes—and if I am wrong, Fanchon can help me—or you can, Josephine.”
“Not I,” said Josephine, “my head aches too badly.”
“Well, well,” said Nina, “let’s begin—I know you will help me when I ask you. We were all with Brenda, were we not, when she bought the pink muslins?”
“Why, of course we were, you stupid,” said Fanchon. “Pass me that reel of cotton, please, Josephine.” Josephine did so. Nina placed herself on a low stool and put her sheet of paper and pencil cosily on her knee.