“Miss—er—our guardian,” cried Evelyn, snatching the envelope unceremoniously. “Oh, oh, oh! Got a letter opener, Lucy? Oh, all right; anything. Hairpin? Thanks! Oh, girls, what has she got to say?”
“I might suggest that the best way to find out is to read it,” said Jessie, and immediately became the recipient of a withering stare from Evelyn, who was opening the letter with trembling, clumsy fingers.
“My dear little girl,” she read and then stopped and looked from one to the other pleadingly. “I can’t do it; I can’t read it out loud——”
“Don’t try,” said Lucile, putting an arm around her. “I know exactly how you feel. We would better read them first and compare notes afterward.”
“That’s right,” agreed Jessie. “I didn’t think how hard it would be to read them out loud when I suggested it. Better give them all out together, Lucy.”
“Well, here’s one to you from your mother, I guess, Jessie, and another from your father, and one for you from your mother, Evelyn, and one for me——”
“From whom?” interrupted Jessie.
“Our guardian,” answered Lucile, touching it lovingly. “And here is yours, Jessie,” she added, handing her a letter in the well-known and well-loved handwriting. “Isn’t she dear to remember each one of us like that? And oh, here are whole stacks of letters from the girls—one from Margaret—here, Jess——” And so on until each had a little pile of her own.
“And whom is that from, Lucy?” asked Evelyn, as Lucile picked up the last letter, looked at the unfamiliar handwriting curiously, then looked again more closely, while the tips of her ears became very pink. 115
“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “It’s for me, and—oh, well, I’ll open it later on,” and she tucked it among the others, just to gain time, as she explained it to herself.