"Tommy, what are you doing?" demanded Margery Brown, shaking back a lock of unruly hair from her flushed face. "Conthulting the Oracle," lisped Grace Thompson, more familiarly known among her friends as Tommy. "I should think you would prefer to cool off in the shade after that climb up the hill. I'm perishing. If you knew what sight you are you'd come in out of the sun, wouldn't she, Hazel?"