"Mr. Derry Phillips. I cleaned his rooms, and he took me to lunch. We ate things like we had to your house."
"Derry Phillips, the talented young artist! Why, Amarilly, girls are tumbling over each other trying to get attention from him, and he took you to luncheon! Where?"
"To Carter's, and I'm to serve his breakfast and take care of his rooms, and he showed me how to fix my hair and to say 'can' and 'ate.' He's fired the woman what red his rooms."
"'Merely Mary Ann,'" murmured Colette.
"No," said Amarilly positively. "Her name is Miss O'Leary, and she didn't clean the mopboards."
Colette's gay laughter pealed forth.
"Amarilly, this is the first time, I've laughed this summer, but I must explain something to you. The housekeeper told me that all the children had scarlet fever and were quarantined a long time after we left. I wish I had known it and thought more about you, but—I've had troubles of my own. How did you manage so long with nothing coming in?"
"It was purty hard, but we fetched it," sighed Amarilly, thinking of the struggles, "We're doin' fine now again."
"But, tell me; how did you buy food and things when none of you were working?"
"When your ten dollars was gone, we spent his'n."