“Is it not horrid, auntie?” she said.
“Well, my dear, if you think so, it is. But not for these girls, who play the game with never a thought of impropriety and with no shock to their modesty. Much depends on how you think about these things.”
But Maimie was not satisfied. She was indignant at Don for offering to kiss her, but as she stood and watched the games going on under the trees—the tag, the chase, the catch, and the kiss—she somehow began to feel as if it were not so terrible after all, and to think that perhaps these girls might play the game and still be nice enough. But she had no thought of going back to them, and so she turned her attention to the preparations for tea, now almost complete. Her aunt and Ranald were toasting slices of bread at the big blazing fire, on forks made out of long switches.
“Let me try, auntie,” she said, pushing up to the fire between her aunt and Ranald. “I am sure I can do that.”
“Be careful of that fire,” said Ranald, sharply, pulling back her skirt, that had blown dangerously near the blaze. “Stand back further,” he commanded.
Mamie looked at him, surprise, indignation, and fear struggling for the mastery. Was this the awkward boy that had blushed and stammered before her a week ago?
“It's very dangerous,” he explained to Mrs. Murray, “the wind blows out the flames.”
As he spoke he handed Maimie his toasting stick and retired to the other side of the fire, and began to attend to the boiling sap.
“He needn't be such a bear,” pouted Maimie.
“My dear,” replied her aunt, “what Ranald says is quite true. You cannot be too careful in moving about the fire.”