"If you remember _vibgyor_, you'll remember the seven primary colors!"
she said mysteriously.
"Is it like cutting your nails on Saturday without thinking of a fox's
tail and so never have the toothache?" questioned Linnet.
"_No_; this is earnest. It isn't a joke; it's a lesson," returned
Marjorie, severely. "Mr. Holmes said a professor told it to him when he
was in college."
"You see it's a joke! I remember _vibgyor_, but now I don't know the
seven primary colors. You are always getting taken in, Goosie! I hope
you didn't ask Mr. Woodfern if he is the man in _Pilgrim's Progress_."
"I know he isn't," said Marjorie, seriously, "there are a good many of
them, he said so. I guess _Pilgrim's Progress_ happened a long time ago.
I shan't look for Great-heart, any more," she added, with a sigh.
Linnet laughed and scrutinized the white handled knives to see if there
were any blemishes on the blades; her mother kept them laid away in old
flannel.
"Now, Linnet, you see it isn't a joke," began Marjorie, protestingly;
"the word is made of all the first letters of the seven colors,--just
see!" counting on her fingers, "violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow,
orange, red! Did you see how it comes right?"
"I didn't see, but I will as soon as I get time. You were not taken in
that time, I do believe. Did Mr. Woodfern ask you questions?"
"Not _that_ kind! And I'm glad he didn't. Linnet, I haven't any
'experience' to talk about."
"You are not old enough," said Linnet, wisely.
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