"I never knew you had such awful things out West," said Dotty shuddering. "And I don't think now there's any difference in boy-cousins! They never take you away, nor do anything you ask 'em to—so there!"
"Why, Dotty, he was hurrying as fast as he could to get out of our sight; there was no need of taking you away."
"She needn't be 'fraid," observed Flyaway, soothingly; "if I had a sidders, I could ha' cutted him in two."
By this time the rest of the party had arrived. Grace and Cassy walked together very confidentially under the same umbrella which had sheltered them years ago—a black one marked with white paint, "Stolen from H.S. Clifford." "Bold thieves" Horace called them; but they deigned no notice of his remark.
"I'll get an answer," murmured Horace, repeating aloud,—
"'Hey for the apple and ho for the pear, But give me the girl with the red hair.'"
At this Grace turned around sharply, and shook her bare head, which gleamed in the sun like burnt gold.
"Panoria Swan has red hair," said she,—"fire-red; but mine is auburn."
"O, I only wanted to make you speak, Grace; that will do."
"Here we are at the woods," said Mr. Clifford. He had once owned a neighboring lot, and his pecan trees had been fenced around to protect them from the impertinent swine; but now the party were going into the heart of the forest.