Marjorie smiled.
“To come back to the subject again,” continued Jack, after a moment of silence, during which each had been occupied by the same thoughts, “think what fun it would be to catch a nice mess of fish for breakfast; and you could show all the other girls how. Honestly, Sis, you can handle a fly-rod pretty well—for a girl. However, you can suit yourself. To hear me talk, you might think I was trying to sell you something.”
“I believe I will take it,” said Marjorie. “Thank you for suggesting it.”
Jack grunted and strolled over to the window.
“Well, I’d better get to work,” remarked the girl, “or I won’t have my uniform finished in time.”
She folded the letter and turned her attention to the neglected sewing in her lap.
“Speaking of the—er—angels!” muttered Jack, in an undertone, “Look who’s here!”
“Jack, do be careful!” warned his mother, from the other side of the room.
It was Ruth Henry who appeared at the gate.
“Hello, everybody!” called the visitor, walking in unannounced, and making no attempt to give Mrs. Wilkinson a less familiar greeting. “Hear from Miss Phillips, Marj?”