at one golden curl which the wind blew over a
shoulder. The two boys were in a secluded corner
of Madame's lawn, behind a clump of Japanese
cedars, during an intermission.

"I can't help it because I wear curls," declared
Arnold with angry shame.

"Who said you could? No need of getting mad."

"Mamma and Aunt Flora and grandmamma
won't let me have these old curls cut off," said
Arnold. "You needn't think I want to have curls
like a girl, Johnny Trumbull."

"Who said you did? And I know you don't like
to wear those short stockings, either."

"Like to!" Arnold gave a spiteful kick, first of
one half-bared, dimpled leg, then of the other.

"First thing you know I'll steal mamma's or Aunt
Flora's stockings and throw these in the furnace --
I will. Do you s'pose a feller wants to wear these
baby things? I guess not. Women are awful queer,
Johnny Trumbull. My mamma and my aunt Flora
are awful nice, but they are queer about some
things."

"Most women are queer," agreed Johnny, "but