Her cousin Amy followed in the same path, and Agnes spared no pains to keep them there.  She felt that she could not afford to lose her only allies.  Every minute that had elapsed since she had flung down her tennis racket in such anger and mortification had but increased this mortification, and strengthened her resolve to show those boys and Tilly Morris that she was right and they were wrong about “that girl.”

Of course, when she set her face in this direction, she was on the lookout for everything unfavorable; and everything, pretty nearly, was turned into something unfavorable, so perverted and distorted had her vision become.  It was “Dora, did you notice this?” and “Amy, did you see that?” until the two began to find the incessant harping upon one subject rather wearisome, especially as the particular details thus pointed out had never yet developed into matters of any importance.

“I wish Agnes wouldn’t keep talking about that Smith girl all the time, unless there was something more worth while to talk about,” broke forth Dora impatiently to Amy just after the interview with Tilly.

“So do I,” Amy responded emphatically; then, laughing a little, “unless there was some real big thing to tell.”

“But I don’t wonder Agnes doesn’t like the girl, with Tilly and Will taking up for her and making such a fuss;” and Dora indignantly repeated Tilly’s accusations.  Amy caught at the word “persecution,” as Dora had done, and together they defended themselves against these accusations with a zeal and ingenuity worthy of a better cause.

They were in the full tide of this talk when, as they rounded the curve of the shore where they were walking, they came upon Agnes herself, coming rapidly towards them.

“Oh, girls, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.  I’ve got something I want to show you,” she exclaimed excitedly.  “Come up here and sit down;” and she led the way to a little cluster of rocks.

Dora and Amy glanced at each other rather apprehensively.  Was Agnes going to tell them something else about the Smith girl,—­going to say.  “Did you notice this?” or “Did you see that?” in reference to some detail that displeased her?  They had worked themselves up into quite a state of indignation against Tilly and the boys, and of increased sympathy with Agnes; but they were so tired of hearing, “Did you notice this?” “Did you see that?” when there had been such uninteresting little things to “notice,” to “see.”

With these apprehensions flitting through their minds, the two girls seated themselves to listen with very languid interest.  But what was that Agnes was unfolding,—­a newspaper?  And what was it she was saying as she pointed to a certain column?  She wanted them to read that!  The cousins looked at each other in a dazed, inquiring fashion; and Agnes, starting forward, impatiently thrust the paper into Dora’s hand and cried sharply,—­

“Read that; read that!”