Elliott was silent. She was trying to decide whether or not she was hurt. Inconvenienced seemed rather a slim verb for what had happened to her. But she didn’t go on to say what she had meant to say about candy, and she felt in her secret soul the least bit irritated at Laura.
Then Priscilla whirled in on her tiptoes, her hands behind her back. “The postman went right straight by, though I hung out the window and called and called. I guess he didn’t hear me, he’s awful deaf sometimes.”
“Didn’t I get a letter?” Elliott’s face fell.
“Mail is slow getting through, these days,” said Aunt Jessica, coming in from the main kitchen. “We always allow an extra day or two on the road. Wasn’t there anything at all from Bob or Sidney or Pete, Pris? You little witch, you certainly are hiding something behind your back.”
Then Priscilla gave a gay little squeal and jumped up and down till her black curls bobbed all over her face. When she stopped jumping she looked straight at Elliott.
“Which hand will you take?” she asked.
“I? Oh, have you a letter for me, after all?”
“You didn’t guess it,” said the child. “Which hand?”