“Oh, dear,” came sighs from all quarters.
“How many have you, Jo?” asked Nan.
“Seven,” was the reply, “though of course I haven’t an idea whether they are right. I’ve written the definitions below, as you will see.” She handed over her paper.
“Pretty fair,” said Nan, looking over the list. “I will allow you the six at least. Jack, what have you to say?”
Jack confessed to three, though she couldn’t be sure they were correct. She, too, handed over her paper, and Nan went down the line to discover that Mary Lee had guessed four, Jean two, and poor Daniella but one. So Jo was declared winner and was presented with a stale ginger cookie as a prize.
“I don’t feel myself worthy of this great honor,” declared Jo, “and I trust you ladies will agree with me when I say that I consider the distinguished author of this delightful pastime should be the recipient of your royal prize. Miss Jacqueline Corner, allow me, as a committee of one, on behalf of this enthusiastic company here gathered, to present you with this mark of their approval, appreciation, and esteem.” And resting the cookie upon the fire-shovel, she advanced with it to Jack, who, overcome with laughter, snatched the cookie and took a bite.
“A crumb! A crumb!” cried Nan. “I, too, shared in the devising of this wonderful game. Just one crumb, fair lady, from your feast.” Then she fell upon Jack, the rest followed suit, and in a few minutes not even a crumb remained of the prize. Then dinner was announced and all trooped out.
The afternoon was given over to letter writing by many, but Jo and her cronies were seen whispering and giggling together, and when supper was over the result of their conference was discovered, for first Jo appeared in a startling costume, big hat decked off with all the ribbons and ornaments she could collect, a remarkable bodice, a trained skirt, long gloves, and many chains and bracelets. She carried a red umbrella, and though she couldn’t sing a note, she gave a nonsensical song in a sort of recitative to Nan’s banjo accompaniment, the refrain being: “I was never so put out in all my life.” There were references to the rainy day, to the little foibles of this or that one, the incidents of their camp life, and so on, so she easily carried off the honors, and was called on for an encore with such enthusiasm that she gave what was described as “Jo’s special stunt.” She was an excellent mimic, and her monologue won for her peals of laughter. Mary Lee and Daniella followed with a dance, which the Corners had learned in Spain and which Mary Lee had taught Daniella, who did it very well.
Then Jo announced: “The great event of the evening. I bring before you the wonderful musical prodigy, Miss Nannette Corner, aged only eight, and already one of the world’s foremost musicians, whose performances bring tears to the eyes of her audience upon every occasion of her appearance.” Then was led up tall Nan, clad in one of Jean’s white frocks which came up to her knees. Her hair hung down her back and was tied with blue ribbons. She wore slippers and short stockings, and looked, as Jack said, “a sight.” She performed “Home Sweet Home” upon a comb, and was presented with a bunch of onions tied with pink ribbons.
“It was a great success,” every one declared.