“But if Harry comes, Kirke, you and I’ll each have to keep an eye on him to”—
“Yes, that’ll be an eye apiece, Molly.”
“To see that he doesn’t get drowned or anything.”
“Pooh, Miss Fidgetibus, who’s going to drown him? You couldn’t sink that dumpy boy any more’n you could sink the buoy on the rock yonder.”
“I thought you didn’t want Harry any more than I did, Kirke.”
“Who says I do want him? Only I was thinking he could burrow here in all outdoors like a gopher; and it seems sort of mean, doesn’t it, Molly, to shut down on the poor little kid?”
“I—don’t—know.”
Molly’s glance had wandered from the sturdy young oven-builder to a group of well-dressed tourists climbing the long flight of steps to the bluff overhead. How mortifying it would be to take Harry about among people like those, and pose as his sister. Where did Miss Hobbs get the patterns of his clothes?
“The beach will make Harry weller, mamma says,” observed Weezy, always ready to fill the pauses.
“Better, you mean, don’t you, Weezy?” corrected Molly. “Mamma is always wanting to make somebody better.”