“Good for it! The best thing in the world. It’s this soft living that is making such a fluffy, fat caterpillar out of me.”
“But caterpillars turn to butterflies—”
“Don’t I know it? That’s why, Nancy,” hinted Rosa very mysteriously. “That’s exactly—why!”
“Why what?” demanded Nancy, bluntly.
“Hush! Sh-hh! Whish-th!” hissed Rosa, her sibilant sounds imitating the desired silence. “Don’t you know, pretty Coz, that’s the Great Secret?”
“What Great Secret?” Nancy flung up her head defiantly.
“Mine,” replied Rosa crisply. “Here’s the trays.”
For some moments Nancy showed her feelings, in fact, she almost pouted, for, she decided, if Rosa was going to keep up this attitude of mystery, and keep hinting at things, what fun was she, Nancy, going to have out of this long and almost lonely summer?
Possibly sensing her resentment, Rosa hurried to explain.
“When the folks are gone and we have everything to ourselves,” she began, “of course, things will be different.”