“Girls have too many feelings, I think,” said Kirke, not very politely. “They’re always afraid of doing something queer.”
“I wish boys were a little more like them, then,”—Molly pushed back her plate with a saucy air, “boys never care a fig what is said of them.”
“That’s because they’re independent, Molly.”
“It’s because they don’t know what is proper, I say,” retorted Molly between fun and earnest. “Why, I’ve seen boys that would walk into church with monkeys on their backs and never blush.”
“I’m afraid Kirke will consider you rude, Molly,” interposed her mother gently. “Aren’t we wandering very far from Harry?”
“The farther the better,” was Molly’s secret comment, as Mrs. Rowe continued,—
“I hoped you children would want to do something nice for Harry. His aunt is not able to give him many pleasures.”
“She gave him a Caroline cooky yesterday, mamma,” put in Weezy; “full of seeds, it was. Harry let me bite.”
“But, mamma, we can’t take Harry with us,” exclaimed Molly, elated by the sudden thought; “Miss Hobbs can’t possibly get him ready in time for the train.”
“As to that, Molly, she can send him next month by Captain Bradstreet.”