She found Rosamond and Barbara and Harry Goldthwaite on the piazza,
winding the rope rings with blue and scarlet and white and purple, and
tying them with knots of ribbon.

Harry had been prompt enough. He had got the rope, and spliced it up
himself, that morning, and had brought the ten rings over, hanging
upon his arms like bangles.

They were still busy when dinner was ready; and Harry stayed at the
first asking.

It was a scrub-day in the kitchen; and Katty came in to take the
plates with her sleeves rolled up, a smooch of stove-polish across her
arm, and a very indiscriminate-colored apron. She put one plate upon
another in a hurry, over knives and forks and remnants, clattered a
good deal, and dropped the salt-spoons.

Rosamond colored and frowned; but talked with a most resolutely
beautiful repose.

Afterward, when it was all over, and Harry had gone, promising to come
next day and bring a stake, painted vermilion and white, with a
little gilt ball on the top of it, she sat by the ivied window in the
brown room with tears in her eyes.

"It is dreadful to live so!" she said, with real feeling. "To have
just one wretched girl to do everything!"

"Especially," said Barbara, without much mercy, "when she always
_will_ do it at dinner-time."