“Why, it will be lovely, girlies,” she said. “What can I do to help?”
“We need sympathy and advice,” said Marjorie, with the judicial air that marked the Duchess’s serious moments.
“Oh, I’ll give you those,” said Aunt Molly, “but I want to be of more material help. Suppose I provide you with an audience.”
“Yes, do,” cried Betty. “Ask the Marlowes and the Hillises, and those nice people who live the other side of your house—I forget their name.”
“But we can’t sing this foolishness we’ve written to a lot of strangers,” said Nan.
“Indeed we can,” responded Marguerite. “The Blue Ribbon Club can do anything, if it makes up its mind to.”
“The music would be prettier if we had some men’s voices in it,” said Nan, who was looking over the written sheets. “It’s all so high and light.”
“Uncle Ned sings a fine barytone,” said Marjorie. “Do you suppose he’d help us out, aunty?”
“Of course he would,” answered Aunt Molly, heartily; “he’d do anything in his power for the ‘lambs,’ as he always calls you girls.”
“Let’s write a part for him, then,” said Hester. “What could he be?”