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?" Hazel Holland regarded Margery solemnly. "You are a sight yourself, Buster. Your face is as red as a beet. I wish you might see yourself in a looking glass." Buster tossed her head disdainfully. "I'm not a sight," she declared. "I'll leave it to Tommy if your face isn't positively crimson." But Tommy was too fully absorbed in her present occupation to give heed to the remark. "I'm sorry Harriet isn't here," continued Hazel, seeing that Tommy had not heard her.