There was no answer.

"What do you do? Play with dolls? Oh, what a molly!"

Scott raised his head; he had grown quite white. Naïda, turning, saw the
look on the boy's face.

"Duane doesn't mean that," she said; "he's only teasing."

Geraldine came hurrying back with the boxing-gloves and a suit of
Scott's very best clothes, halting when she perceived the situation, for
Scott had walked up to Duane, and the boys stood glaring at one another,
hands doubling up into fists.

"You think I'm a molly?" asked Scott in a curiously still voice.

"Yes, I do."

"Oh, Scott!" cried Geraldine, pushing in between them, "you'll have to
hammer him well for that----"

Naïda turned and shoved her brother aside:

"I don't want you to fight him," she said. "I like him."

"Oh, but they must fight, you know," explained Geraldine earnestly. "If
we didn't fight, we'd really be what you call us. Put on Scott's
clothes, Naïda, and while our brothers are fighting, you and I will
wrestle to prove that I'm not a mollycoddle----"