“How are you, auntie, and how’s everything?” he was inquiring genially, with an arm still about her. Winona gazed wildly around, meanwhile, for a hole to crawl into, but there was none. “You see, I’ve come to dinner,” went on Billy cheerfully.
By this time he had swung around, and seen Winona. He took in her whole get-up, earrings, ’kerchief, sagging skirt, checked apron; and, further off, Louise making change energetically in the same regalia. He began to laugh.
“Good for you, Winona!” he said. “Been selling Camp Fire stuff?”
“William!” said his aunt before Winona could answer, “Do you know this—this young person?”
Billy looked embarrassed.
“Oh, say, Winnie, I’m afraid I’ve put my foot in it,” said he. But he went on telling the truth—Billy was unfortunately incapable of doing anything else. At least, it seemed unfortunate to Winona right then. “Why, yes, Aunt Lydia. This is Winona Merriam, who lives next door to us. She’s camping about a mile and a half down the river from us Scouts.”
The old lady turned sharply on Winona.
“Then what makes you masquerade as an Italian peddler?” she asked sharply.
Winona took courage, for though the old lady was cross, she did not seem unforgivingly angry.
“We thought if we dressed up perhaps people would buy things quicker,” she explained. “But we do really need the money very badly, don’t we, Billy?”