“Now, Pauline!”
“Oh! papa is forever holding you up to me for an example, Molly. I wonder I don’t hate you.”
“The idea of setting me up for an example for anybody, Polly,—me, a girl with a red-haired temper.”
“Oh, hush, Molly! Your hair isn’t red!”
“It used to be when I was a little midget,—a real cayenne-pepper color, and I had a peppery temper to match.”
“What has become of it, then, Molly?”
“Of my hair, do you mean? That has cooled off, but my temper”—
“The stage is ready,” shouted Captain Bradstreet, reining his prancing horses around the corner of The Old and New. “Call your aunt, Pauline.”
Weezy, still a trifle pale, ran out upon the veranda with Harry to witness the departure. Paul and Kirke raced up from the beach. Mrs. Davidson came down from her room, and mounted with Pauline to the back seat of the buckboard; Paul jumped in at the front beside his father, quick good-bys were exchanged, and away dashed the lively horses on the road to the canyon.
“Thursday, remember we shall expect you next Thursday, all three of you,” cried the twins, looking backward.