“Why, so was my dress this morning,” said Jenny, “but here can’t any body play in the mud and not get dirty.  My pantalet hung by a few threads, and as I wanted a rag to wash my earthens with, I tore it off.  Why don’t you wear pantalets?”

Mary blushed painfully, as she tried to hide her bare feet with her dress, but she answered, “When mother died I had only two pair, and Miss Grundy says I sha’nt wear them every day.  It makes too much washing.”

“Miss Grundy!  She’s a spiteful old thing.  She shook me once because I laughed at that droll picture Sal Furbush drew of her on the front door.  I am afraid of Sal, ain’t you?”

“I was at first, but she’s very kind to me, and I like her now.”

“Well, I always run when I see her.  She makes such faces and shakes her fist so.  But if she’s kind to you, I’ll like her too.  You go away (speaking to Henry), and not come here to bother us.”

Henry gave a contemptuous whistle, and pointing to Mary’s feet, said, “Ain’t they delicate?  Most as small as her teeth!”

The tears came into Mary’s eyes, and Jenny, throwing a stick at her brother, exclaimed, “For shame, Henry Lincoln!  You always was the meanest boy.  Her feet ain’t any bigger than mine.  See,” and she stuck up her little dumpy foot, about twice as thick as Mary’s.

“Cracky!” said Henry, with another whistle.  “They may be, too, and not be so very small, for yours are as big as stone boats, any day, and your ankles are just the size of the piano legs.”  So saying, he threw a large stone into the water, spattering both the girls, but wetting Jenny the most.  After this he walked away apparently well pleased with his performance.

“Isn’t he hateful?” said Jenny, wiping the water from her neck and shoulders; “but grandma says all boys are so until they do something with the oats,—­I’ve forgot what.  But there’s one boy who isn’t ugly.  Do you know Billy Bender?”

“Billy Bender?  Oh, yes,” said Mary quickly, “he is all the friend I’ve got in the world except Sal Furbush.”

“Well, he worked for my pa last summer, and oh, I liked him so much.  I think he’s the bestest boy in the world.  And isn’t his face beautiful?”

“I never thought of it,” said Mary.  “What makes you think him so handsome?”

“Oh, I don’t know unless it’s because he makes such nice popple whistles!” and as if the argument were conclusive, Jenny unrolled her pantalet, and tried to wipe some of the mud from her dress, at the same time glancing towards her sister, who at some little distance was reclining against an old oak tree, and poring intently over “Fairy Tales for Children.”

Seeing that she was not observed, Jenny drew nearer to Mary and said, “If you’ll never tell any body as long as you live and breathe, I’ll tell you something.”