—Margaret E. Sherwood: Persephone.
“HOW I wish we had something new and interesting to do Friday afternoons!” said Elsa Danforth, a slim girl in a black coat, with a soft, wide black felt hat set back on the yellow hair which floated like a cloud of pale gold over her shoulders. Elsa was the tallest of the three girls who had hurried away from school together that gray mid-November afternoon. They were just now turning into Washington Avenue.
“It’s too cold to play outdoors,” said Betty White, dancing on ahead, her bag of school-books swung over her shoulder. Betty’s brown eyes danced like her feet, and so did the capes to her long blue coat and the wavy brown hair tied back with a bow of wide white ribbon.
“Isn’t there something we can do?” asked Alice Holt, the youngest and smallest of the three, hurrying to keep up with the others.
“Play dolls or play school is all I can think of,” said Betty. “O Elsa, we might go to your house and play with you!” she added, turning to Elsa. Betty had wanted to have a good look at the great house where Elsa Danforth lived with her grandmother. Betty had been in the house only twice, and then but for a few moments, since the Danforths came there in September.
“But—” began Elsa. Then she stopped; she could not bear to say that her grandmother had told her not to bring children home with her to play.
“I tell you what let’s do,” Alice exclaimed, before Betty could say anything. “Let’s start some kind of a club, and have it meet Friday afternoons. We might have it a Christmas Club.”
“Only grown-up people have clubs,” objected Betty instantly; she was still thinking of what fun it would be to go all over the Danforth house.
“We could have a club, though we are children,” said Elsa eagerly. “I am almost twelve years old.”