“Then there’s only Gretta left of our dormer to get it,” said Josy sadly; “and, somehow, you know, Gretta, you’re not the sort. You’re so frightfully quiet, and ‘Ne evill thing she feard’; no, that isn’t like you. Not that you’re not awfully clever at music, and all that; but—as far as bravery goes——! Well, you don’t mind, do you?” and the tactless speaker turned an inquiring face. “I was only thinking it out.”
“You’d better shut up with your ‘thinking out!’” burst in Margot angrily. “If Gretta’s not frightfully good at games and things like that, you should just hear what mother thinks about her fiddle! And it’s not only mother.’”
“Do be quiet, Margot,” begged Gretta. “I know what Josy means; I’m not the sort to be brave about things. The shield’ll go to Helen, or someone like that. And, as far as this dormer goes, there’s Stella, you know.” The clanging of the first breakfast-bell terrified them all into silence, and it was not until the dining-hall was reached that the three friends had time to speak to each other again.
“Hurrah!” exclaimed Margot, then, pouncing upon a fat letter that lay on her plate. “Look here, Gretta!”
“Is it from auntie?” inquired her cousin. “Oh, if so, do keep it till afterwards and read it in the playground.”
As it was Sunday, and free time, therefore, being less limited than usual, Margot agreed, and half an hour later the couple were to be seen, arm-in-arm, pacing the hockey field, the letter held aloft in Margot’s disengaged hand.
“Oh, if only she tells me about what happened in the ‘Little House’ yesterday!” she began.
“Read it yourself first,” suggested Gretta, “in case there’s anything private.”
“Pooh!” laughed Margot, acting on her cousin’s suggestion nevertheless, until, after reading for a page or two, she gave a great gasp. “Oh, I—say!”
“Whatever is it?” begged her companion.