of this kind, and Rebecca had succeeded in unstopping her ears, ungluing her eyes, and loosening her tongue, so that she could "play the game" after a fashion.
"I 'd rather be an apple-tree in blossom,—that one that blooms pink, by our pig-pen."
Rebecca laughed. There was always something unexpected in Emma Jane's replies. "I 'd choose to be that scarlet maple just on the edge of the pond there,—" and she pointed with the whip. "Then I could see so much more than your pink apple-tree by the pig-pen. I could look at all the rest of the woods, see my scarlet dress in my beautiful looking-glass, and watch all the yellow and brown trees growing upside down in the water. When I 'm old enough to earn money, I 'm going to have a dress like this leaf, all ruby color—thin, you know, with a sweeping train and ruffly, curly edges; then I think I 'll have a brown sash like the trunk of the tree, and where could I be green? Do they have green petticoats, I wonder? I 'd like a green petticoat coming out now and then underneath to show what my leaves were like before I was a scarlet maple."
"I think it would be awful homely," said Emma Jane. "I 'm going to have a white satin with a pink sash, pink stockings, bronze slippers, and a spangled fan."
