“Oh, she likes to do such things, Molly.”
“Kirke will want to be something absurd,—an Indian boy, maybe. I saw him sneak in at your side-door yesterday noon with toggery rolled up in a blanket.”
“Did you, Molly? That accounts for the tittering in Paul’s room about that time.”
“Probably the boys were having a dress-rehearsal,” returned Molly, laughing; and her face was still in a pucker when Manuel Carillo opened the door.
“You are just starting out on your newspaper route, aren’t you, Manuel?” she said, observing that he had his leather bag slung across his shoulder. “Is your mother at home?”
“Yes; she’s sewing on her new machine,” replied Manuel, laughing in his light-hearted Spanish way.
In greeting the girls Mrs. Carillo laughed too, and proudly exhibited the new sewing-machine which Kirke, with his own earnings, had helped her to purchase.
“You do beautiful work with it, Mrs. Carillo,” said Molly politely. “Are Donald’s frocks finished?”
Mrs. Carillo replied in broken English that the frocks were finished, and would the señorita pardon her for neglecting to send them home? Then, with profuse apologies, she rolled the garments into a neat parcel, and instructed Manuel to tie this under the seat of Molly’s bicycle.
“Don’t you think Manuel has lovely manners, Molly?” said Pauline as she and Molly whizzed away from the cottage.