“What did you say you were, Sylvia?” asked Courage during the progress of the meal.
“Oh, I didn't say I was nuffin 't all,” nervously fearing that in some unconscious way she might again have offended her new little mistress.
“Yes, you did, don't you know?” pretending not to notice the nervousness. “It was something nice to be; it began with kitchen.”
“Oh, yes,” said Sylvia, much relieved, “a kitchen-garden grajate. Want to see my di-diplomer?” including both Larry and Courage in one glance as she spoke. Wholly mystified as to what the article might be, both of course nodded yes, whereupon Sylvia, plunging one little black fist down the neck of her dress, vainly endeavored to bring something to the surface.
“It kinder sticks,” she explained confidentially, but in another second a shining medal attached to a blue ribbon came flying out with appalling momentum. “Dere now,” she said, giving a backward dive through the encircling ribbon, “dat's what I got for larning all dere was to larn.”
Courage took the medal and examined it. It was made of some bright metal, and was stamped with the figure of a girl with a broom in her hand. Across the top were the words “Kitchen Garden,” and on a little scroll at the bottom the name Sylvia Sylvester.
“Why do they call it a kitchen garden?” asked Courage, passing the medal on for Larry's inspection; “it's an awful funny name.”
“Glory knows! ain't no sense in it, I reckon.”
“And that medal,” added Courage, “was a sort of a prize for doing things better than the others, wasn't it?”
“No, Miss Courage, dat's a reg'lar diplomer. All de chillens in de school had 'em when, dey grajated.”