"It is in Chili." She dragged her atlas towards her and found the place.
"See," she said.

"It is thousands of miles from New York." Her companion was a near-sighted, rather slow girl.

She peered at the map, drawing a line with her finger from New York to Concepcion.
"Yes, they are at a great distance from one another," she admitted, "but they are both in America." "But not both in the United States," cried Betty.

"French girls always seem to think that North and South America are the same, that they are both the United States." "Yes," said the slow girl with deliberation.

"We do make odd mistakes sometimes." To which she added with entire innocence of any ironic intention.