I did not get along very fast, and presently the dark overtook me. So I put it away for the next day, but I was all impatience.
"Call Jolette to let me down a little. And then stir the fire."
Both were attended to. Then Ben ran in. He was going home to supper, and this was German evening. But he had two or three bits of brightness that amused father.
I finished the paper the next morning, and we folded it up and tied it with a cord, writing on the outside, "To the Editor of the Prairie Farmer."
"Now, Ruth," he said, "I wish you would take it down to the office. I doubt if any one is in just at this time, and so much the better. Lay it on the desk in plain sight. And I dare say it will go into the waste basket. But I believe that has been the result of some first efforts of people who came up to fame afterwards. Don't stop to talk or explain, and I hope no one will see you. Then we won't get laughed at."
"If anybody laughs at that"—my face was scarlet and my eyes flashed—I could think of nothing bad enough for punishment.
"There, there, run along."
Men were going to and fro to dinner. I threaded my way hurriedly, and had a green veil tied over my face. Through Randolph Street, here it was on the corner of an alley way, "Prairie Farmer" over the unpretentious door way. I peered in timidly. There was a clumsy-looking boy with very red cheeks sitting on a box and kicking his heels against it. There was also a high square desk with four slim legs. I crossed over to this and laid down the precious package.
"What cher want?" exclaimed the boy gruffly. "Folks gone ter dinner."
"Nothing," I replied. But before I had shut the door curiosity jumped down with a thump and no doubt satisfied himself.