Tommy, what are you doing? demanded Margery Brown, shaking back a
lock of unruly hair from her flushed face. "Conthulting the
Oracle," lisped Grace Thompson, more familiarly known among her
friends as Tommy. "I should think you would prefer to cool off in
the shade after that climb up the hill. I'm perishing. If you knew
what sight you are you'd come in out of the sun, wouldn't she,
Hazel?" Hazel Holland regarded Margery solemnly. "You are a sight
yourself, Buster. Your face is as red as a beet. I wish you might
see yourself in a looking glass." Buster tossed her head
disdainfully. "I'm not a sight," she declared. "I'll leave it to
Tommy if your face isn't positively crimson." But Tommy was too
fully absorbed in her present occupation to give heed to the
remark. "I'm sorry Harriet isn't here," continued Hazel, seeing
that Tommy had not heard her.
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