"Well, it scared me nearly to death," said Grace, who was curled up on
the lower step, with a cushion brought from the house acting as head
rest. "I declare when I saw them drag her up on the bank, Betty, I
thought that she was dead. She looked so drawn and white, and----"
"Well, you couldn't expect her to look particularly rosy and happy,
after all she had been through," Mollie remarked. "If I had been doused
under water as long as that poor girl was I would not only have looked
dead, I'd have been it."
"Oh, I don't know," Grace retorted lazily. "If I'm not mistaken it
would take a good deal to stop that tongue of yours, Mollie."
"Speak for yourself," Mollie was beginning angrily, when Betty entered
into the conversation. She had been dreamily studying the shimmering
ripples the soft wind had stirred upon the surface of the water.
"Some day," she began in a sing-song voice, her eyes still fixed on the
distance, "I'm just going to let you two go on to the bitter finish. I
shouldn't wonder if you will be like the two cats of Kilkenny. You
remember what they did, don't you?"
"No, what?" asked Mollie, and Grace added: "We might just as well know
where our bad tempers are going to land us.
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