“And my goodness!” said exaggerating Cora, “there are tucks a mile wide and hems a mile deep and a whole acre of cloth in everything.”
Three days after the evening on the stairs, the girls were all in the school room when Sallie, a little late, came in with the mail bag. There was a pleasing plumpness about the bag that day; and, as usual, all the girls crowded into the space just below the rostrum, so that Sallie, the post girl, looked down upon a small sea of eager, upturned faces.
Sallie reached into the bag, as was her habit, and pulled out a letter.
“Miss Eleanor Pratt,” she read. One of the Seniors accepted it, calmly.
“Miss Anne Blodgett, Miss Isabelle Carew, Miss Ruth Dennis, Miss Debbie Clark, Miss Hazel Benton, Miss Gladys de Milligan, Miss Bettie Tucker, Miss Augusta Lemon, Miss Beatrice Holmes—” Another Senior strolled leisurely forward and condescended to accept a letter. Really, those older girls were annoying; they were so blasé about their mail.
“Miss Mabel Bennett,” called Sallie, in her clear, strong voice.
Mabel seized her letter and waved it, gleefully. “It’s from Mother!” she cried. “Hip, Hip, Hooray!” (There was nothing blasé about Mabel.)
Sallie, beaming sympathetically, pulled another letter from the bag.
“Miss Mabel Bennett,” she announced.
“It’s from Mother,” Mabel shrieked again.