“Say everything, Marie-Celeste; tell her all about me. Explain to Donald first, and get him to take Harold off' somewhere, and then tell all the others—Mr. and Mrs. Hartley and Chris and Martha. It is not that I lack the courage to tell them myself, it's only that it will be easier for them to learn it from you, you have such an innocent way of going straight to the heart of a matter. Besides, how could they hear it better than from my good little angel?”
“Your good little angel! Oh, you don't know me, Cousin Ted! I'm anything but an angel. I was bad as I could be for three whole days together a few weeks ago—you ask Donald! Listen! they are calling me up at the cottage. Take that last spoonful of custard quickly, please; it's good for you. Good-by, now,” printing a hearty little kiss on his grateful face, “and remember your promise;” and then, carefully lifting the tray, she sped back to the cottage, cheerily calling, “Yes, I'm coming,” to Donald, who was on his way to meet her.
“Marie-Celeste, what have you done?” and Donald's face looked the picture of despair as he came toward her; nevertheless, he was gallant enough to relieve her of the tray, with its empty dishes.
“You mean about my finding out about Cousin Ted?”
Donald simply nodded yes; he had no heart for words.
“Well, I couldn't help it, Donald; Mrs. Hartley asked me to carry some custard and sponge-cake to the gentleman under the apple-tree—was it my fault that the gentleman happened to be Ted, I'd like to know?” for never were there more accusing eyes than Donald's.
“Oh, no; not your fault, but it's a pity to have the whole thing spoiled. We've kept the secret so carefully.”
“And do you think it can't be a secret any longer because I happen to be in it?”
That was exactly what Donald felt sure of, but he contrived to say, “I didn't suppose you'd see the need of its being kept—I'm glad if you do;” but there was no real gladness evident, for Donald's tone was hopeless in the extreme.
“All the same, you don't think I'll keep it, Donald,” her little face really grieved. “You think because I'm a girl that I'll tell mamma, and then before I know it somebody else,” and therein Marie-Celeste proved herself a veritable little mind-reader. “Well, now, Donald, you'll see! and perhaps you'll come to understand girls better this summer, and have more respect for them in the future.”