CHAPTER IX.
Impressions Josephine waited languidly while Kate chose a second-best cushion from the couch and, lifting the bandaged foot as gently as might be, placed it, with many little pats and pulls, under the afflicted member.
Josephine screwed her lips into a soundless expression of pain, smiled afterwards when Kate glanced at her commiseratingly, and pulled a long, dark-brown braid forward over her chest.
"Do you want tea, Phenie ?--or would you rather have chocolate to-day?
I can make chocolate just as easy as not; I think I shall, anyway.

Buddy is so fond of it and--" "Is that man here yet ?" Josephine's tone carried the full weight of her dislike of him.
"I don't know why you call him 'that man,' the way you do," Kate complained, turning her mind from the momentous decision between tea and chocolate.

"Ford's simply fine! Chester thinks there's no one like him; and Buddy just tags him around everywhere.

You can always," asserted Kate, with the positiveness of the person who accepts unquestioningly the beliefs of others, living by faith rather than reason, "depend upon the likes and dislikes of children and dogs, you know." "Has the swelling gone out of his eyes ?" Josephine inquired pointedly, with the irrelevance which seemed habitual to her and Kate when they conversed.
"Phenie, I don't think it's kind of you to harp on that.

Yes, it has, if you want to know.