“I like mittens best,” she said stoutly,—“for school, anyway,” she added, and gave Clarabel more of the sidewalk.
“My Aunt Bessie said specially that these were to wear to school.” And Clarabel walked nearer the fence.
Josephine was hard put to it—Clarabel’s manner had become so superior.
“I don’t think your Aunt Bessie knows everything, even if she does teach school in a big city. My mother says she’s too young to—”
What she was too young to do was not allowed to be explained; for Clarabel, with a color in her face that rivaled Josephine’s mittens, had faced her.
“My Aunt Bessie’s lovely, and I won’t listen to another word against her, not another one—so there!”
Then she turned, with a queer feeling in her throat, and ran down the street to catch up with another little girl who was on ahead.
Josephine swung her books and walked as if she didn’t care.
Clarabel overtook the little girl, who was all smiling appreciation of the new gloves, and was overtaken by other little girls who added themselves to the admiring group. But somehow her triumphal progress was strangely unsatisfactory; the glory was dimmed.
At recess, Josephine paired off with Milly Smith, who stood first in geography and wore two curly feathers in her hat. Clarabel shared her cookies with Minnie Cater, because it didn’t matter who helped eat them if it wasn’t Josephine. Neither spoke to the other, and at noontime they walked home on different sides of the street.