"Don't you, now, 'truly, truly, black and bluely, lay me down and cut me in twoly?'" he asked, with the air of a magistrate about to "swear" a witness.
"I would very much rather you should eat it," evaded Debby.
"Then I will," he answered, brightly, "for I do want it awfully."
"Eat it, then; but don't be tempted to take any," she cautioned.
"Catch me taking—I'm not a thief!" and he hastened away.
Debby was thirteen years old, but she could have cried for that ice-cream.
"Oh, here you are at last!" cried Annie, running up to her a few minutes afterward. "I couldn't imagine where you had got to. Now, just read my letter," placing a tiny sheet of pink paper in her hand. "That box all trimmed up at the end of the candy-table is the post-office," she explained, "and we give them five cents and ask for a letter. Just read mine."
Debby read, written in a large, clear hand:
"And shouldst thou ask my judgment of that which hath most profit in the world, For answer take thou this: The prudent penning of a letter."
"It's lovely!" was Debby's comment. "If I should have one, I wonder what it would be!"