Our Mother looked at our Father. Our Father looked at our Mother. They both looked at the letter again.
"My brother Peter's handwriting just as sure as you're born!" said my Father.
"Of course it's Peter's writing," said our Mother. Her cheeks were quite pink. "Well of all the unexpected romances—" she said.
"Whose?" I said.
"Tiger Lily's," said my Father. He seemed to be in an awful hurry to say it.
I looked at my Mother. Her eyes were shining.
"Is a—Is a 'Romance' a something that you make a story out of?" I said.
"Yes it is," said my Mother.
I thought of my gold pencil.