“You are playing! You are playing!” Muffs and Tommy both shouted. “You’re being contrary and that makes you Contrary Mary.”
“I am not contrary and you don’t sing for your supper either, Tommy Tyler, because you can’t carry a tune.”
“I can sing-song,” said Tommy, “and it sounds magic. Muffs can sing-song too because she sing-songed back at me when I was calling gilly-galoo out of the tree. That makes us not real and everything we do all day MAGIC.”
“What’s that feather in your hair?” asked Mary eyeing the new girl doubtfully.
“I was playing Indian,” Muffs explained. “I was following a trail.”
“It was just our road,” Tommy put in. “That’s too wide for a trail. But I know where there’s a real trail we could follow. It’s somewhere over in those woods.” He pointed to the hillside beyond the apple orchard. “Remember, Mary, we started to follow it once——”
“Oh, yes!” Mary exclaimed. “I remember. But it’s a long trail. It would take all day.”
“We could pack some lunch,” Tommy suggested.