"Well, but perhaps Carlia don't know. You wouldn't have her tell a fib, would you?"
"Oh, shucks, she knows as well as us."
"She's just stubborn."
She who was receiving these criticisms seemed to be somewhat older and larger than her companions. Just now, not deigning to notice the accusation of her friends, she was throwing sticks into the running water and watching them go over the falls at the headgate and dance on the rapids below. Her white party dress was as yet spotless. She swung her straw hat by the string. Her brown-black hair was crowned by an unusually large bow of red ribbon. She was not the least discomposed by the teasing of the other children, neither by Dorian's presence. This was her party, and why should not she do and say what she pleased.
Carlia now led the way along the canal bank until she came to where a pole spanned the stream. She stopped, looked at the somewhat insecure footbridge, then turning to her companions, said:
"I can back you out."
"How? Doin' what?" they asked.
"Crossing the canal on the pole."
"Shucks, you can't back me out," declared one of the boys, at which he darted across the swaying pole, and with a jump, landed safely across. Another boy went at it gingerly, and with the antics of a tight-rope walker, he managed to get to the other side. The other boys held back; none of the girls ventured.
"All right, Carlia," shouted the boys on the other bank.