“It’s no such thing, Ernest Morton, I killed a quail once, didn’t I, Father?”
“Dick, if you’ll come and unrope our trunks, I think we’d better be getting our things out,” said Alice an hour later.
“Yours to command, Captain. I am perishing to have Chicken Little see my present.”
“Yes, Jane, what do you think? Dick had to go and pick you out a gift all by himself–he wasn’t satisfied with my efforts. And he has the impudence to insist that you will like his best.”
“We’ve got a package for you, too, but I don’t know what’s in it. Mother wouldn’t let us see. Let’s go unpack quick, Gertie, and find out.”
“And I want to show my trousseau! Shall I get it out to-night, Mrs. Morton, or wait till morning?”
“To-night, Alice,” spoke up Marian, “I want to see it and I’ll be busy in the morning. I am pining to see some pretty clothes.”
94Dick had already vanished into the upper regions and he called down airily: “Doors open, ladies. World renowned aggregation of feminine wearing apparel, including one pair of the very latest hoops and the youngest thing in bustles, now on exhibition.”
Mrs. Morton looked shocked, and Marian and Alice tried to control their amusement. “The heathen, I warned him to be good.” Alice laughed in spite of herself with an apologetic glance at Mrs. Morton. The girls had bolted upstairs at the first words of Dick’s invitation.
“Come on, Mother, don’t mind Dick’s nonsense,” said Marian, linking her arm in hers and gently drawing her up. “It will do you good to see Alice’s pretty things.”