At that moment a series of shrieks rose high above the shouting and laughter of the games, and Maimie came flying down toward the camp, pursued by Don, with the others following.
“Oh, auntie!” she panted, “he's going to—going to—” she paused, with cheeks burning.
“It's forfeits, Mrs. Murray,” explained Don.
“Hoot, lassie,” said Mrs. Cameron; “it will not much hurt you, anyway. They that kiss in the light will not kiss in the dark.”
“She played, and lost her forfeit,” said Don, unwilling to be jeered at by the others for faint-heartedness. “She ought to pay.”
“I'm afraid, Don, she does not understand our ways,” said Mrs. Murray, apologetically.
“Be off, Don,” said his mother. “Kiss Marget there, if you can—it will not hurt her—and leave the young lady alone.”
“It's just horrid of them, auntie,” said Maimie, indignantly, as the others went back to their games.
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Cameron, warmly, “if you will never do worse than kiss a laddie in a game, it's little harm will be coming to you.”
But Maimie ignored her.