"You horrid, horrid—"
"I'll count three slowly, and if your foot isn't out by that time—"
"You—you mustn't do such a thing! You shan't!" Molly gasped her indignation, meanwhile clinging to the tree with both hands.
"Just the same, I'm going to. Get your arm out of the way."
He pulled back his tennis slipper to aim at the kitten. "One!— Two!— Thr—"
A little half-scream interrupted him, and behold! Molly's stockinged foot rested beside its booted mate as she lunged forward to prevent the outrage upon the little black and white kitten.
Strangely enough, the red-headed boy was merely grinning good-naturedly.
"I knew you could," he said. "I knew, if you really wanted to—"
For a little moment, Molly stared sternly at him, before she bit her lower lip with an expression that was somewhere between vexation and relief.