“I don’t know, Mother. Miss Whittier has them, all type-written, and she will give them to us soon, she said. But I’ll not have any trouble to learn it. I can learn things to recite so easily.”
“Yes, your memory is wonderful. And I suppose one of the teachers will train you.”
“Yes, in gestures and expression. Oh, Mother, won’t it be fun?”
“Yes, girlie? I know it’s just the sort of fun you like.”
“Oh, I do; I’ll walk like this.” Catching up her slumber-robe from the couch, Betty held it from her shoulders like a court train, and walked across the room with stiff, stagy strides, holding her head very high.
“Hello, your Majesty, what are you doing?” said Jack, appearing at the door.
“Good for you, Jack!” cried Betty; “I’m pleased that you should have recognized what was meant for a queenly gait. I’m Queen Elizabeth of England.”
“Pooh! You look more like the White Queen of Looking-Glass Land!”
“Well, maybe I do now; but just you wait till I get my velvet train and jeweled crown,—and, oh, Mother, shall I have a scepter?”
“Yes, I think that’s part of the costume.”