"I don't know," I answered, with a happy smile.
"Girls," Grace cried, "I believe Rhoda could write them all! She likes to write!"
Miss Lucy was out of the room, and I remember that they all came around me, and looked at me, as if I had been a strange animal.
"Rhoda," Janet McLarin cried, taking her head out of her lap, "if you'll write my composition for me I'll give you my best blue hair ribbon. My Sunday one. Honest."
I didn't want the hair ribbon; but I nodded at her.
"I'll write it," I said.
"Will you write me one, Rhoda, dear?" Grace asked, jealously, with her face against mine. "You are my friend, not hers."
"I'll write yours, too," I agreed.
"And one for me?"
"And for me?"