Rachel burst into a loud laugh, but it was very musical; and before they knew it, although they were very much astonished, the two boys were laughing, too, though they hadn't the least idea at what.
"I'm glad of it," announced Rachel, when she had gotten through. "I love to scream. Sometimes it seems as if I'd die if I couldn't. Don't you?"
"No, I don't," said Peletiah, "ever feel so."
"Don't you?" Rachel leaned over to peer into Ezekiel's face.
"No, I don't, either," he said.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Rachel, catching her breath. "Well, let's run." And before either boy knew what was going to happen, she was hauling them along at such a mad pace as they had never before in all their lives indulged in.
The butter-pat slipped out of Peletiah's hand, gone on the wind, and landed on the roadside grass.
"Wasn't that a good one!" cried Rachel, her eyes shining, as she brought up suddenly. "Oh, my! ain't things sweet, though!"—wrinkling up her nose in delight.
"I lost the butter-pat," observed Peletiah, when he could get his breath.
"I never see anything so beautiful," Rachel was saying, over and over. Then she flung herself flat on the grass, and buried her nose in it, smelling it hungrily. "Oh, my!"