"Cordelia! Really?"
"Yes. You know they told us they got them from our church sometimes. And, Genevieve, it was awful—that barrel! It looked just like the other one, the one they got while we were there that day—old shoes and dolls, and homely things!"
"Oh, Cordelia! What did you do?"
Cordelia drew in her breath with a little gasp.
"I don't know. I talked. I said things—awful things. I know they were awful things from the looks of some of their faces. And at the last Mrs. Johnson—you know how she can be sometimes!—she—she just snapped out: 'Very well, Miss Cordelia, if you are not satisfied with what we have been able to procure after weeks of hard work, suppose you go out yourself and solicit gifts for your friends!' And, Genevieve, I said I would. And I turned 'round and marched out. And now—now—what shall we do?"
Genevieve sprang to her feet.
"Do? Why, we'll do it, of course," she cried.
"But, Genevieve, I'm so scared. What if folks won't give—anything? Those women worked weeks—they said they did—for what they've got!"
"But folks will give," declared Genevieve, with prompt confidence. "Now wait. I'll have to tell Aunt Julia where I'm going, then I'll be back ready to start," she finished, as she whisked out of the room.
"Oh, Genevieve, you're always so comfortingly sure," sighed Cordelia to the door through which her friend had just sped.