CHAPTER VI.
THE RAG-BAG.
Next morning there was a loud call from the three Parlins for the rag-bag, in which Flyaway joined, though she hardly knew the difference between a rag-bag and a paper of pins.
"I wish you to understand, girls," said Horace, flourishing his hat, "that I'm not going to cart round any such trash for you this summer."
"Now, Horace!"
"You know, Gracie, you belong to a Girls' Rights' Society. Do you suppose I want to interfere with your privileges?"
"Why, Horace Clifford, you wouldn't see your own sister trundling a wheelbarrow?"
"O, no; I shan't be there," said Horace, coolly; "I shan't see you. I promised to weed the verbena bed for your aunt Louise. Good by, girls. Success to the rag-bag!"