"Yes," said Willy. "I don't think girls have much idea of time, do you?"
"Why, Willy, I don't know that I have ever considered the question. You see, I have always been a girl myself, so perhaps I am not qualified to judge. But—do you think boys have so very much more idea? It seems to me I know some one who has been late for tea several times this week."
Willy looked conscious. "Well," he said, "I know; but that is different. When you are late for tea,—I mean when a boy is,—he is generally doing something that he wants very much indeed to get through with, fishing, or splicing a bat, or something that really has to be done. Besides, he knows they won't wait tea for him, so it doesn't make any difference."
"I see!" said Margaret. "And girls are never doing anything important. Aren't you rather severe on us, Willy?"
Willy was about to reassure her kindly, for he was extremely fond of her; but at this moment a cheery "Hallo!" was heard, and the twins rode up on their bicycles, bright-eyed and flushed after a fine spurt.
"Neck and neck!" said Gerald. "Margaret, I hope you don't object to being a winning-post. That was a great run."
"Where have you been?" asked Margaret, as the two dismounted and walked along on either side of her.
"Over to the Corners, to send a telegram for the Pater. And thereby hangs a tale."
"May we hear it? We love a tale, don't we, Willy?"
Willy did not look particularly enthusiastic, but he murmured something, which Gerald did not wait to hear.