"Then I wouldn't go. Tell Aunt Prue; she won't make you go."
"I don't want to tell her; it would make her cry."
"Then don't tell her. I'll stay home then—if I have to. But I want to go. I can stand it if you can."
Marjorie laughed at her resignation and resolution and rolling her over pushed her gently out down to the carpet. Perhaps it would be better to stay home if there were something so dreadful at school, and Deborah might let her make molasses candy.
"Won't you please stay home with me and make molasses candy, or peppermint drops?"
"We'll do it after school! won't that do? And you can stay with Deborah in the kitchen, and she'll tell you stories."
"Her stories are sad," said Prue, mournfully.
"Ask her to tell you a funny one, then."
"I don't believe she knows any. She told me yesterday about her little boy who didn't want to go to school one day and she was washing and said he might stay home because he coaxed so hard. And she went to find him on the wharf and nobody could tell her where he was. And she went down close to the water and looked in and he was there with his face up and a stick in his hand and he was dead in the water and she saw him."
"Is that true?" asked Marjorie, in surprise.