“Well, I ’ve written him about letting me have a wheel, and I’m perfectly sure that he will. I should n’t be a bit surprised if I should have a letter any day.”
“That will be fine,” said Amy; but her tone was not particularly cheerful.
“Oh, come now, don’t feel glum; you can’t tell what may happen. I should n’t be at all surprised if you should have one too.”
“Well, I should be surprised. You know it’s rather funny, I have a bicycle pump. My music teacher spent a week with us in the spring, and she left it behind her. It’s a foot-pump, and rather clumsy to carry to town, so she insisted on letting it stay at our house until the autumn. She expects to come again.”
“Oh, yes; that was the pump that you lent to that girl who wanted your mother to take in washing. That was a joke!” and Fritz laughed as he recalled the description that Amy had given of the incident.
“There, there, Fritz, I’m sure that Miss Barlow has made up for that since. She was really rather kind to us the other day. You know that you thought so then.”
“Oh, yes, you were rather funny yourself that day,—rather dignified and stiff; the way you can be when you are not particularly pleased about things. I fancy that you were thinking about the laundress business too.”
Amy did not deny this accusation. She knew very well that she had let Brenda’s remark rankle longer than she should have; for, in spite of her politeness to Brenda at the time of their first meeting, and her acceptance of the
