e she'll spoil her apron, can't do
that, because she'll muss her hair."

"Boys ar'n't talked to about their clothes as girls are," said Cricket,
with a sigh. "If you just heard 'Liza talk when we tear our clothes! She
has to mend them. Wouldn't I be happy if I could go around all the time
in my gymnasium suit. I feel _so_ light and airy."

"And girls are so affected," pursued Archie. "You wouldn't walk with us
yesterday coming home from church, and why not? 'Cause you had your best
bonnet on, and you carried your head too high. _So_ affected!"

"It wasn't affectedness, it was got-to-do-it-ness," said Cricket,
stoutly. "If you had to go to church with a great, big, flappy, floppy
hat on, that joggled your ears all the time, 'cause the roses were so
heavy, and if you had to be careful to keep your pink organdie clean
for next Sunday, and if you had a teasy cousin, who, likely as not,
would take hold of your arm, and crunch your sleeves all down, most
probably you'd have walked all by yourself, too, and tried to keep
yourself respectable so 'Liza wouldn't scold. But you're a boy,"
finished Cricket, with a burst of envy, "and so you don't bother about
clothes. And, anyway, boys will never admit they're to blame about
anything," returning suddenly to the original charge.

"Because they never are, of course," answered Archie, turning a back
somersault. "It's always somebody else's fault."

"Did you hear auntie tell that funny story about Archie, last night,
Will?" asked Cricket.

"Funny story about me, miss? There never was any funny story about me."

"This was a little bit funny, anyway. Auntie said you weren't but three
years old, and she was visiting with you, at Kayuna. It was early one
morning, before breakfast, and the piazza had just been washed up, and
wasn't dry yet. Papa was reading a newspaper, and you were running up
and down the piazza, showing off."

"Showing off!" repeated Archie, with a sniff of disdain.

"Yes, sir, showing off. Auntie said so. She said you always liked to,
even then. Stop firing apples at me. You nearly hit me that time. You
stood still just in front of papa, and gave a little kick at him, and
your foot slipped, and down you went on your back. And you got up, as
angry as could be, and you said, 'Now see what you made me do,' and you
gave another kick at him, and down you went again. Then auntie said you
screamed out, 'Now you've done it again. You've done it again.' And she
says tha