"Miss Wylie," said Gertrude, becoming scarlet: "you are very--oh! oh!
Stop Ag--oh! I will tell Miss--oh!" Agatha had inserted a steely finger
between her ribs, and was tickling her unendurably.

"Sh-sh-sh," whispered Miss Carpenter anxiously. "The door is open."

"Am I Miss Wylie?" demanded Agatha, relentlessly continuing the torture.
"Am I very--whatever you were going to say? Am I? am I? am I?"

"No, no," gasped Gertrude, shrinking into a chair, almost in hysterics.
"You are very unkind, Agatha. You have hurt me."

"You deserve it. If you ever get sulky with me again, or call me Miss
Wylie, I will kill you. I will tickle the soles of your feet with a
feather," (Miss Lindsay shuddered, and hid her feet beneath the chair)
"until your hair turns white. And now, if you are truly repentant, come
and record."

"You must record first. It was all your fault."

"But I am the youngest," said Agatha.

"Well, then," said Gertrude, afraid to press the point, but determined
not to record first, "let Jane Carpenter begin. She is the eldest."

"Oh, of course," said Jane, with whimpering irony. "Let Jane do all the
nasty things first. I think it's very hard. You fancy that Jane is a
fool; but she isn't."