“I didn’t mean to make fun of you, truly,” she assured him contritely. “And—and I think ‘cal’late’ is a very nice word. I guess you’d better go now, though, because Aunt Matilda’s coming.”
“Where?” he asked in alarm. Molly nodded down the road.
“In the buggy. She’s been to the village. Oh, you needn’t run, because she’s seen you already. But if you just walk off you’ll get away before she can say anything.”
“But—but she’ll scold you, won’t she?” he asked, pausing indecisively in flight.
“Yes, but I don’t mind. Besides, she doesn’t really scold; she just ‘expostulates for my own good.’ Good-by. Come to the hole in the hedge this afternoon at half-past five and I’ll tell you when I can play tennis with you. Don’t forget!”
“I won’t,” called Cal, hurrying toward home and safety.
“You do want me to play tennis, don’t you?” she called after him.
“Yes, indeed!” he shouted back. Then he plunged through West House gate with a deep sigh of relief.