"Janice," said her mother, entering, "how often must I tell
thee that giggling is missish? Stop, this moment."

"Yes, mommy," gasped Janice. Then she added, after a
shriek and a wriggle, "Don't, Tabitha!"

"What ails thee now, child? Art going to have an attack of
the megrims?"

"When Tibbie laces me up she always tickles me, because
she knows I'm dreadfully ticklish."

"I can't ever make the edges of the bodice meet, so I
tickle to make her squirm," explained Miss Drinker.

"Go on with thy own dressing, Tabitha," ordered Mrs.
Meredith, taking the strings from her hand. "Now breathe
out, Janice."

Miss Meredith drew a long breath, and then expelled it,
instant advantage being taken by her mother to strain the
strings. "Again," she said, holding all that had been gained,
and the operation was repeated, this time the edges of the
frock meeting across the back.

"It hurts," complained the owner of the waist, panting, while
the upper part of her bust rose and fell rapidly in an attempt
to make up for the crushing of the lower lungs.