Pauline, putting on her hat before the glass, turned quickly. "As soon
as I can. Hilary, don't you like her?"

Hilary balanced herself on the arm of the big, old-fashioned rocker.
"I think so. Anyway, I love to watch her talk; she talks all over her
face."

They went out to the gig, where Mr. and Mrs. Boyd and Shirley were
standing. Shirley was feeding Fanny with handfuls of fresh grass.
"Isn't she a fat old dear!" she said.

"She's a fat old poke!" Pauline returned. "Mayn't I give you a lift?
I can go 'round by the manor road 's well as not."

Shirley accepted readily, settling herself in the gig, and balancing
her pail of milk on her knee carefully.

"Good-by," Pauline called. "Mind, you're to be ever and ever so much
better, next time I come, Hilary."

"Your sister has been sick?" Shirley asked, her voice full of
sympathetic interest.

"Not sick--exactly; just run down and listless."

Shirley leaned a little forward, drawing in long breaths of the clear
evening air. "I don't see how anyone can ever get run down--here, in
this air; I'm hardly indoors at all. Father and I have our meals out
on the porch. You ought to have seen Betsy Todd's face, the first time