“Oh, how funny!” yelled Rosa. “Let’s give a couple of echoes for Ted.”
They shouted again and again, until the echoes became a mere jumble of sounds.
“I must read Mumsey’s letter,” insisted Nancy presently. “Just let’s sit in the boat and--read it.”
The steamer letter proved the treat it was bound to be, Nancy hugging every word, every syllable, while Rosa leaned over, fascinated.
“Your mother is--wonderful, Nan,” she said finally. “No wonder you--you’ve got so much sense.”
“Have I?” asked Nancy, unwilling to take that sort of compliment. “No one, not any of my friends, ever say things like that to me; I’m so flighty,” she admitted quite frankly.
“But you’re not scrappy like I am,” spoke Rosa. “I just wonder why I love to--oppose folks.” This little sentence sounded tragic from Rosa’s lips. Her round, dimpily face fell into serious lines as she expressed this query, and even her baby-blue eyes looked far away where they could see nothing.
“You’re not scrappy,” Nancy felt bound to defend. “Maybe you just imagine folks are opposing you,” she hazarded.
It was Nancy who now felt guilty--guilty of arousing in Rosa that queer little spirit of rebellion which seemed to rule her budding life.
“But, Rosa,” she argued, quite helplessly, for Nancy had no illusion about her own weaknesses, “don’t you think, maybe, you just imagine a lot of things?”
“No, not that way,” replied Nancy. “What’s the use of making worries? If you had a brother like our Ted--”
“Or a sister like Ted has,” put in Rosa good-humoredly. “I know you hate silly stuff, Nancy. You wouldn’t let me say that you’ve done me a lot of good already; but you have.”
“How? Why, Rosa, we hardly know each other, and I really couldn’t do you good, for I’m rather--rather queer, you know. I just couldn’t--” Nancy stumbled and paused.
“Pretend,” finished Rosa. “That’s it, Nancy, you’re just being queer, is the reason. There’s a name for it but don’t let’s bother about that. Shall we row out?”
“I love to row,” declared Nancy again, taking her place at the oars.
“And I hate to,” admitted Rosa, settling back in the cushions.
“Rowing ought to be good for you,” suggested Nancy. “Isn’t it queer how we skinnies always do the things that make us thinner?”