The teacher saw them they thought; she
appeared to be waving her hand at them, though the distance was so great
that they could not be certain of this.
"I'm going to meet her," exclaimed Tommy, springing to her feet. "You
thtay here." Tommy started off, scattering a lapful of daisies about her
as she ran, then fled down the hill in a series of leaps, her white shoe
ties brushing the tops of the daisies and sending the latter into a
nodding sea of protest.
"Grace! Grace, come back!" cried Hazel.
"Isn't she a tomboy!" scoffed Margery. "Her nickname suits her."
Tommy was moving too rapidly at that moment to turn back, even though she
had wished to do so. So fast was her gait that she appeared to have lost
control of herself. Her little white-shod feet were working like parts of
a machine driven at high speed. Her voice floated up to them in a shrill
wail.
"Thave me! I'm going to fall," she cried. Then she disappeared from view
as she sprawled face downward with arms thrust forward among the daisies
and tall grass.
"Oh! She is hurt," cried Hazel in alarm.
"No, she isn't. Don't get excited," answered Margery calmly. "You don't
know Tommy if you think a little tumble like that could harm her. See,
there she goes."
Sure enough, Grace was on her feet again racing down the hill at the same
reckless pace as before.
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