“Do you know that queer girl on the hilltop?” asked Fussy, unexpectedly.
“Who do you mean?” Grace challenged.
“‘Fly-away Peg,’ they call her. She’s so queer, and so—so sort of heathenish,” said Buzzy.
“We are acquainted with Peggie Ramsdell,” replied Grace, glad that she remembered the name, “but we don’t consider her queer.”
“You don’t, really! Then you don’t know her. She is very queer, and if I were you—so young and trusting—I’d keep away from her,” offered the second intruder.
“Why should we do that?” Corene shot the question defiantly.
“Well,” a titter, “she won’t get you any place, that’s all,” went on the informer. “No one will take you up if you tag around with her.”
“We don’t want to be taken up,” flung back Corene. “And I’m afraid you will have to excuse us. It is almost time for class.”
“Class! And do you go to school here, too?”
No one answered, but all had risen. They would take Corene’s cue and go in the tent; if only those rude girls would take themselves off.