“I bet if I ever grow up I’ll do what I please on Sunday! I think when a fellow goes to their old church and Sunday School he might be let alone for the rest of the day. Think I’m going to read that dope?—all the chaps with any life in them get expelled or go to the penitentiary and the rest are old goody-goody tattle-tales you wouldn’t be caught dead with! Guess they’re ’fraid if they got a real live boy in a book he’d bust the covers off!”
Ernest’s disgust was so real it was painful. Jane sympathized acutely.
“The ‘Elsie Books’ aren’t so bad only I guess Mother’d spank me if I talked to her the way Elsie does to her father.”
“Can’t play with the boys—can’t read—can’t go for a tramp—can’t even get my lessons for tomorrow.”
Ernest flung himself on the old haircloth sofa and groaned.
Chicken Little looked out of the window wistfully. It was a glorious September day. The fragrance of ripening grapes from the long arbor outside floated in temptingly; the maples were already showing gleams of red and yellow and the soft air was fairly calling to a frolic. Beyond the two high board fences that bounded the Alley separating their yard from the Halford place, she knew her two small playmates were happy out in the sunshine. Mrs. Halford’s views on Sunday keeping were not so rigid.
Chicken Little sighed, then suddenly brightened. “Katy and Gertie haven’t got a brother anyhow!” she said half aloud, balancing advantages.
“Who you talking to?” Ernest raised himself on his elbow to find out.
“Nobody—I was just a thinking.”
“Must be hard work. Say, Sis, I know something you don’t know. No, I’m not going to tell—it’s a secret. Bet you’ll be tickled to death when you find out—here, look out!”