“The whole truth,” replied Roberta languidly. “It took eight pages and I hope he’ll enjoy it.”
“I say,” cried Katherine excitedly. “That’s a great idea. Let’s try it.”
“And read them to one another afterward,” added Rachel. “They might be more entertaining than your lit. paper.”
“May I borrow some paper?” asked Betty. “I’m hoping Helen will finish to-night if I let her alone.”
Roberta helped herself to a book from the shelves and an apple from the table, and the rest settled themselves to their epistolary labors. Except for the scratching of Betty’s pen, and an occasional exclamation of pleasure or perplexity from one of the scribes, the room was perfectly still. Betty had just asked for an envelope and Katherine was numbering her pages when Mary Brooks knocked at the door.
“What on earth are you girls doing?” she inquired blandly, selecting the biggest apple in the dish and appropriating the Morris chair, which Katherine had temporarily vacated. “I haven’t heard a sound in here since nine o’clock. I began to think that Helen had come in and blown out the gas again by mistake and you were all asphyxiated.”
Everybody laughed at the remembrance of a recent occasion when Helen had absent-mindedly blown out the gas while Betty was saying her prayers.
“It wasn’t so funny at the time,” said Betty ruefully. “Suppose she’d gone to sleep without remembering. We’ve been writing home, Mary,” she said, turning to the newcomer, “and now we’re going to read the letters, and we’ve got to hurry, for it’s almost ten. Roberta, you begin.”
“Oh no,” said Roberta, looking distressed.
“I wish somebody would tell me what this is all about first,” put in Mary. Rachel explained, while Katherine and Betty persuaded Roberta to read her letter.