“Hadn’t heard of it. When is it to be?”
“I don’t think there is any date fixed. They are skirmishing around to get performers, and make up a programme. I promised to sell some tickets. It is to be for some worthy object, tuberculosis hospital, I believe. Come, let’s go hunt up Clausie; it was she who told me about it; Miss Chesney told her.”
“Miss Dodge told Miss Chesney, no doubt. It’s a regular Henny Penny sort of tale, isn’t it? There’s a box of fudge, Win. Help yourself while I dress.”
“Did you make it?” inquired Winnie, picking up a square of fudge and looking at it critically.
“I did, child of an inquiring mind, and if you say it isn’t good, I shall cut your acquaintance.”
Winnie nibbled off a corner of the square. “It’s prime. How many things have you learned to cook in the past year, Jo?”
“Mercy me! I don’t know. Ask me what I don’t know how to cook. You remember my experience in being chief cook and bottle washer last fall when Gradda was ill and we had no maid. After that I don’t believe anything can ever feaze me again, not in the way of housekeeping at least.”
“You certainly have had your ups and downs, blithe spirit,” replied Winnie, finishing her piece of fudge and helping herself to another. “The way you have bounced along through all sorts of jobs is a caution.”
“Do blithe spirits bounce?” said Joanne vigorously brushing her hair.
“Don’t be hypercritical, my child. If you prefer it I will say the way you have airily flitted. Honest to goodness, Jo, you are a wonder. This time next year I expect to see you sporting around as a Golden Eaglet.”