“I thought she’d be more s’prised,” ventured Katy after a few moments, as the trio watched Mrs. Morton sweep down the front walk to the gate, the shimmering folds of her gray silk dragging behind her.
“My, I wish I had such a grand dress,” said Gertie, changing the subject.
“Your mother’s got a lot of dresses, hasn’t she?”
“Yes, heaps, but I don’t want any old silk dresses. I hate to be dressed up, you can’t climb trees or nothing, and your mother always tells you to be a little lady. Bet I won’t be a little lady when I grow up.”
“Why, Chicken Little Jane, you’ll have to be!”
“Sha’n’t either—Mother says I’m the worst tomboy she ever saw and I’ll disgrace my family if I don’t look out. I don’t care if I do—I think it’s fun to be something different. Maybe I’ll be a circus-rider.” Jane swung her unfortunate doll about by one arm to emphasize her decision, and smiled defiantly.
Katy refused to be impressed.
“Pooh, you never saw a circus-rider—you said yesterday your mother’d never let you go to a circus. I’ve been to six, counting the one Uncle Sim took us to in the evening.”
“I don’t care, I’ve been to see the animals—and I just guess I did see circus-riders, too, in the parade!”
“Well, you’d have to dress up if you were a circus-rider ’cause they have lots of fussy skirts and spangles and things—only they aren’t very clean most always. I saw one close to once. I’d rather have a lace shawl and a beautiful watch like your mother’s,” put in Gertie.