Item: Beatrice had reversed her decision
that Keith was vain, though she still felt tempted, at times, to resort
to "making faces"--when she was worsted, that was.
To return to this particular day of sulking; Rex had cast a shoe, and
lamed himself just enough to prevent her riding, and so Beatrice was
having a dull day of it in the house. Besides, her mother had just
finished talking to her for her good, which was enough to send an angel
into the sulks--and Beatrice lacked a good deal of being an angel.
Dorman laid his baking-powder can confidingly in his divinity's lap.
"Be'trice, I did get some grasshoppers; you said I couldn't. And you
wouldn't go fishin', 'cause you didn't like to take Uncle Dick's
make-m'lieve flies, so I got some really ones, Be'trice, that'll wiggle
dere own self."
"Oh, dear me! It's too hot, Dorman."
"'Tisn't, Be'trice It's dest as cool--and by de brook it's awf-lly cold.
Come, Be'trice!" He pulled at the smart little pink ruffles on her
skirt.
"I'm too sleepy, hon."
"You can sleep by de brook, Be'trice. I'll let you," he promised
generously, "'cept when I need anudder grasshopper; nen I'll wake you
up."
"Wait till to-morrow. I don't believe the fish are hungry to-day. Don't
tear my skirt to pieces, Dorman!"
Dorman began to whine. He had never found his divinity in so unlovely a
mood.
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