“I’m not ashamed of myself,” replied her sister, scornfully. “I’m ashamed of you. You’re just as extravagant as you can be. You spend every cent of your husband’s income, and now you want to saddle him with a big boy, a girl, and an—”
“An old lady,” said Margaretta.
“Grandma isn’t old. She’s only sixty-five.”
“Sixty-five is old.”
“It is not.”
“Well, now, can you call her young?” said Margaretta. “Can you say she is a girl?”
“Yes,” replied Berty, obstinately, “I can call her a girl, or a duck, or anything I like, and I can call you a goose.”
“A goose!” repeated Mrs. Stanisfield, chokingly; “oh, this is too much. I wish my husband were here.”
“I wish he were,” said Berty, wickedly, “so he could be sorry he mar—”
“Children,” said a sudden voice, “what are you quarrelling about?”