“Have you light enough for your painting, girls?” Miss Ruth stopped to ask. The daylight had suddenly begun to disappear.
“Let’s stop now; I have done three sets,” said Betty, dropping her paint-brush.
“I have finished two.” Elsa straightened back her shoulders and stretched her arms.
Miss Ruth reached over to the couch and pulled two cushions down upon the hearth-rug. “You have both done splendidly, and so has Ben. Sit here and rest yourselves now,” she said.
“Don’t waste any time from the story, please,” Betty said in a loud whisper as she seated herself, Turk-fashion, on the large square cushion and leaned her head against Miss Ruth’s knees.
“Didn’t Miss Dean give you the box, or even show it to you that day?” inquired Ben, who was lying flat upon his stomach, looking into the fire.
“No,” replied Miss Ruth, “not that day.”
“I think she was mean to forget it,” said out-spoken Betty.
“Wait till we’ve heard the end of the story,” exclaimed Elsa, who had curled up on her cushion against the heavy brass stand which held the fire-tongs and shovel.
“Do you know the end of it?” Betty asked quickly.