Then you'll be sorry!"
"He wasn't a bit dirty. If you weren't so afraid of dogs, you'd know
William Thayer wouldn't bite!" she retorted indignantly. "I think I
might have three cookies--those are nasty little thin ones. And you
never put enough butter."
Caroline and her namesake-aunt were as oil and water in their social
intercourse.
"Now, that's another thing. I cannot see where you put all the food
you eat! You get more than the boys, a great deal. And boys are
supposed--not that any one grudges it to you, child, but really----"
"I'm getting later all the time," Caroline remarked impartially.
"You needn't cut the crusts off; I like 'em."
Her aunt sighed, and handed her the lunch-basket; a fringe of
red-and-white napkin dangled invitingly from the corner.
"Now run along; what are you going in there for?"
"My jography."
She stood for a moment looking out at the flagstone where William
Thayer had waltzed so seductively, then strolled slowly out, along
the porch and by the house. The lilies-of-the-valley were white in
the sidebeds; their odor, blown to her on quick puffs of west wind,
filled her with a sort of pleasant sadness, the mingled sorrow and
delight of each new spring. She bent her strong little legs and
squatted down among them, sniffing ecstatically.
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