“It's awful dull,” he complained.
Charlotte looked down at him commiseratingly from her semicircle of white muslin flounces. “I'll play ball with you awhile, Eddy, dear,” said she.
The boy sniffed. “Don't want to play ball with a girl,” he replied.
Charlotte said nothing.
Eddy twitched with his face averted. Then suddenly he looked up at his sister. “Charlotte, I love to play ball with you,” said he, sweetly, “only, you see, I can't pitch hard enough, your hands are so awful soft, and I feel like I could pitch awful hard to-night.”
“Well, I tell you what you may do, dear,” said Ina.
“What?”
“Go down to the post-office and get the last mail.”
Eddy started up with alacrity. “All right,” said he.
“And you may run up-stairs to my room,” said Charlotte, “and hunt round till you find my purse, and get out ten cents and buy yourself an ice-cream.”