"Ain't that sweet!" she exclaimed, and feasted
her eyes till, suddenly looking down at Irene's gaiters, she caught a glimpse of a curious field-bug trotting along on the ground. My little lady forgot the ruffles, forgot everything but her desire for a closer view.
"O, see—see!" she cried excitedly, half-running, half-crawling after the bug, "see this funny thing! I can't catch him! But, O my—ain't he cunnin'! Irene, do get down here and see!"
Irene took a step forward, then stood still.
"I can't," she said, "I might soil my dress."
But Lou scarcely heard. She was absorbed in the funny bug. On she went trying to catch him, till finally he slipped round a tree-root and was seen no more.
Back came Lou to Irene brushing the dirt from her frock.
"It's cold standin' here," she said, "let's play tag."
"I can't," spoke Irene again, "I might trip and soil my dress."
Lou's eyes went up and down the dainty robe. "It isn't much of a tag-frock," she thought. But she was a restless maid. Between hopping and dancing she glanced up at the sky and exclaimed: