Mary pointed to the woodshed.
“O dear!” exclaimed Victoria, leaping out of the runabout and hitching her horse, “aren't you afraid some of those sharp iron things will fall on him?” She herself rescued brother from what seemed untimely and certain death, and set him down in safety in the middle of the grass plot. He looked up at her with the air of one whose dignity has been irretrievably injured, and she laughed as she reached down and pulled his nose. Then his face, too, became wreathed in smiles.
“Mary, how old are you?”
“Seven, ma'am.”
“And I'm five,” Mary's sister chimed in.
“I want you to promise me,” said Victoria, “that you won't let brother play in that shed. And the very next time I come I'll bring you both the nicest thing I can think of.”
Mary began to dance.
“We'll promise, we'll promise!” she cried for both, and at this juncture Mrs. Fitch, who had run from the washtub to get into her Sunday waist, came out of the door.
“So you hain't forgot me!” she exclaimed. “I was almost afeard you'd forgot me.”
“I've been away,” said Victoria, gently taking the woman's hand and sitting down on the doorstep.