"Yes, I know, Mr. Brag," she said, in such a low voice that her
grandmother could not hear. "I know perfectly well. If I didn't it
wouldn't be because you haven't told me every chance you got. Who did
you say is your tailor in London, and how many times was it the Queen
invited you out to Windsor? I think it's a ninety-nine dollar cravat you
always buy, isn't it? And you wouldn't be so common as to wear a pair of
gloves that hadn't been made to order specially for you. Yes, I've heard
all about it!"

Miss Allison heard, but said nothing. She knew the boys were a little
inclined to boast, and she thought Virginia's sharp tongue might have a
good effect. But the retort had grown somewhat sharper than was
pleasant, and, fearing a quarrel might follow if she did not interrupt
the whispers beside her, she said:

"Boys, did you ever hear about the time that the Little Colonel threw
mud on her grandfather's coat? There's no end to her pranks. Get
grandmother to tell you."

"Oh, yes, please, grandmother," begged Keith, with an arm around her
neck. "Tell about Fritz and the parrot, too," said Virginia. "Here,
Malcolm, there's room on this side for you."

Aunt Allison smiled. The storm had blown over, and they were all friends
again.

[Illustration: "'DAPHNE, WHAT'S DEM CHILLUN ALLUZ RACIN' DOWN TO DE
SPRING-HOUSE FO'?'"]