“It’s a big plan—it might be too big, but—I think we ought to try. Come on, I’ll tell you!”
They all gathered together with big wonder-eyes and listened. And Mother, who had spent the afternoon down under the shade of the friendly bluegums on the creek, darning and patching, wondered what was keeping her little girlies so quiet up on the wooden verandah.
“You know, Dadda has a very rich brother somewhere in the world, and, of course, he’s our uncle. So, at that rate, we have a Rich Uncle!”
“A Rich Uncle,” they all murmured.
“A smart lot of good he is to us,” put in Eileen. “That’s the last we’ll hear of him.”
“Wait a bit,” went on Mollie. “I’ve been thinking we ought to write to him.”
“Write to him,” in chorus, “but we don’t know him!”
“That doesn’t matter. We’ll write to him.”
“Write to him,” repeated Eileen. “A lot of good that will do. I suppose he’d never answer the letter. Anyhow, where is he?”
“I don’t know. But I think we can find him.”