“Well, whoever it is, I am deeply thankful that somebody besides a tramp is coming,” interrupted Florence.
“And so am I,” demurely agreed Rose. “Do go to the door, Cassie, and peep out, and make sure that it isn’t that dreadful creature coming back.”
“Are you a dreadful creature coming to murder us all?” demanded Cassie of the whistler, setting the door slightly ajar, and thrusting her head out.
“Well, I don’t go round giving myself out as a dreadful creature,” responded a jolly voice from the porch. “Hello! What’s this I’m breaking my neck over?” as the owner of the voice tripped upon an old slouch hat.
“Bring that article of wearing apparel to me, if you please,” requested Cassie as she opened the door, letting a flood of light out upon the visitor. “That is a little token of remembrance 308 which I wish to keep. There!” holding the hat out at arm’s length, “I have long wanted a gilt toasting-fork or rolling-pin, or something artistic, for my room; now I shall embroider these shot-holes and gild the brim and hang it up by long blue ribbons, just where my waking orbs can rest upon it as they open in the morning. Ah, this hat will ever have stirring memories for me, friend George,” eying the young man dramatically.
He looked at her a moment, then burst into a hearty laugh. “Is she crazy, Rose?”
“Yes, she’s the dearest and bravest lunatic in the world, George,” answered Rose.