“Oh, Elizabeth, what a very nice plan,” said Betsy, now thoroughly convinced. “I do think you can think out the nicest things. I should like to do that.”
“I almost hope next Saturday will be rainy, don’t you?” said Elizabeth as, with arms around one another, they walked towards the garden gate.
“I almost do,” agreed Betsy, “though I usually despise rainy days. Come in and let us go up to my room and look over the bag together; you must have another choice, you know, and I will choose something to swap with Kathie; you are sure she will be willing to, Elizabeth.”
“Of course she will. It will be much more interesting to have a variety.”
Betsy was satisfied with this assurance, and thus all clouds rolled away.
It was too dark for Elizabeth to linger long, but each made her choice from the stuffs which Betsy shook out upon her bed, and then Elizabeth, with hers safely tucked in her coat pocket, started up the long street towards the brown house at the end of it.
There was a comforting odor of supper when Elizabeth entered, and she made straight for the kitchen that she might discover what Electra was cooking.
“Now, what are you after?” inquired Electra, as she quickly shut the oven door.
“I wanted to know what it was that smelled so good,” returned Elizabeth.
“I’ll be bound for you,” returned Electra. “It is filoes for meddlers, if you must know.”