CHAPTER VI.
THE RAG-BAG.
Next morning there was a loud call from the three Parlins for the rag-bag, in which Flyaway joined, though she hardly knew the difference between a rag-bag and a paper of pins.
"I wish you to understand, girls," said Horace, flourishing his hat, "that I'm not going to cart round any such trash for you this summer." "Now, Horace!" "You know, Gracie, you belong to a Girls' Rights' Society.

Do you suppose I want to interfere with your privileges ?" "Why, Horace Clifford, you wouldn't see your own sister trundling a wheelbarrow ?" "O, no; I shan't be there," said Horace, coolly; "I shan't see you.

I promised to weed the verbena bed for your aunt Louise.

Good by, girls.
Success to the rag-bag!" "Let's catch him!" cried Susy, darting after her ungallant cousin; but he ran so fast, and flourished his garden hoe so recklessly, that she gave up the chase.
"Let him go," said Grace, with a fine-lady air: "who cares about rag-bags?
We've outgrown that sort of thing, you and I, Susy; let the little girls have our share." "Yes, to be sure," replied Susy, faintly, though not without a pang, for she still retained a childish fondness for jujube paste, and was not allowed a great abundance of pocket-money.

"Yes, to be sure, let the _little_ girls have our share." "Then may we three youngest have the whole rag-bag ?" said Prudy, brightly.