“That is her handwriting,” exclaimed Evelyn, and then there ensued such a babble of wonder and delight and excited speculation as to its contents that Lucile was finally 27 obliged to shout, “If you will only sit down, girls. I’ll see what’s inside, and please stop making such an unearthly noise—we’ll have the reserves out to quell the riot before we know it.”
The girls laughed and distributed themselves about the porch, as many as could possibly get there crowding the rail on either side of Lucile, while they all listened with bated breath to what their guardian had to say.
“To Lucile and all my dear camp-fire girls,” read Lucile. “I planned to come to Burleigh long ago, as you all know, and was bitterly disappointed when I was forced at the last minute to change my plans.”
“So were we,” said Evelyn, and was greeted by a chorus of impatient “sh-sh” as Lucile went on:
“But this time I am as sure as I can ever be of anything that my plans won’t fall through. I expect to be in Burleigh by the twenty-fifth.”
“Oh, think of it! That’s day after to-morrow!” Margaret exclaimed, rapturously.
“That’s what it is,” Jessie agreed.
“Go on, Lucy; what more has she to say?” demanded another of the girls, and Lucile went on with her reading.
The rest of the letter contained descriptions of her travels and all she had seen, ending up with: “When I see my girls, I will tell you all I have been writing now, and a great deal more, and will expect to hear more fully than they have been able to write me all that has happened to them during the last six months. I am counting the hours till I see you all again. Good-by till then, dear girls. Your own loving guardian.”
“That’s all,” Lucile finished. “Now we know when she’s coming.”