"I don't like to live at my house," Blair said, sighing.
"Why don't you run away?" demanded Elizabeth; "I'm going to some day when I get time."
"Where would you run to?" David said, practically. David was always disconcertingly practical.
But Elizabeth would not be pinned down to details. "I will decide that when I get started."
"I believe," Blair meditated, "I will run away."
"I'll tell you what let's do," Elizabeth said, and paused to pick up her right ankle and hop an ecstatic yard or two on one foot; "I tell you what let's do: let's all run away, and get married!"
The other three stared at her dumfounded. Elizabeth, whirling about on her toes, dropped down on all—fours to turn a somersault of joy; when she was on her feet she said, "Oh, let's get married!" But it took Blair, who always found it difficult to make up his mind, a few moments to accept the project.
They had planned to devote that afternoon to playing bury-you-alive under the yellow sofa in Mrs. Richie's parlor, but this idea of Elizabeth's made it necessary to hide in the "cave"—a shadowy spot behind the palmtub in the greenhouse—for reflection. Once settled there, jostling one another like young pigeons, it was David who, as usual, made the practical objections:
"We haven't any money."
"I suppose we could get all the money we want out of my mother's cash-box," Blair admitted, wavering.