"But what will Faith say when she sees that rig? Why, Peace, it looks awful!"
"I should say it did!" exclaimed a second voice from the hallway, and Faith, a tall, brown-eyed girl of about fifteen years, entered the door. "What in the world do you think you are doing, Peace Greenfield?"
Peace blinked her somber eyes vigorously, for tears were very near the surface, but she swallowed back the lump in her throat and calmly answered, "I'm getting ready for the reception, same as you."
"Indeed you're not! Gail isn't going, and you can stay right here at home with her and Allee."
"That's what I did the last time, but you don't play that trick on me tonight. Mother said I could go to the next reception, and I am going."
"She didn't mean this kind of a reception, and you can't go."
"I will, I will! Oh, you are the crossest sister!" cried poor Peace, with tears of vexation streaming down over her cheeks. "You always spoil my good times! You never make Cherry stay at home—"
"She is older—"
"Two years ain't much!"
"She knows how to behave herself."