“I was ten in January, the twelfth,” May Nell replied, with no pride in her tone; she was always older than those of her size. Yet she was not prepared for the gasps and backward movement of the twins.
“Ten? You won’t think of playing with us, then. Ma thought you’d be just our age.”
“Just our age.”
The little stranger girl smiled winningly. Her childish companions had not been numerous enough to justify her in drawing such close lines; and she liked the sweet, half timid faces that always looked so earnestly into her own. “Surely, I’ll play with you. I’ll come to see you some time when Mrs. Bennett says I may.”
A whoop startled her and she turned to see a handsome boy racing up on a brown pony, also carrying a basket.
“Hello, Billy To-morrow! Why didn’t you do that mowing last night? You said you were going to.” He dismounted, tied the pony to the post, and went inside; and one saw that in spite of jeers the boys were friends.
“Something my mother sent yours. You mustn’t touch it,” he warned, as Billy made a reach for it. “I was to land this safe in Mrs. Bennett’s hands; and here goes!” He sprang from Billy’s outreached arms, ran into the house and out again, before Billy had time to resume his mowing.
“Say, it’s a donation party, isn’t it?” Billy did not see Harold wink at the twins, but picked up his mower and started across the lawn at a trot.
“Here, let me do that,” Harold commanded; “you go and do the rest of your work. We won’t get to play in all day. The Gang coming?”
“Said so, but they’re late. We’ve got an addition, the little earthquake girl.” This last was a sibilant aside.