Then Betty explained that she had meant to say that London was the capital of England, but that she had been thinking of a secret.
When at last the class was dismissed, the Sunny Seven, as Adele called them, hurried out to the elm-tree, and Betty Burd exclaimed: “Wasn’t Miss Donovan a dear not to keep me in! I was so afraid that she would, and then I couldn’t have heard the secret.”
“Like as not you deserved to be kept in,” Bertha Angel remarked, “but we are glad that you weren’t.”
“Now, Adele, do tell us that secret,” pleaded Peggy Pierce, and they all listened with eager anticipation.
“Look at me hard,” Adele said, “and see if you can guess my secret.”
The six girls turned her around and even examined the big ribbon bows on her golden-brown braids, but they couldn’t find a clue to the secret.
“Don’t I look a little bigger or older or something?” Adele asked.
“Oho-ho! I know!” cried Doris Drexel, clapping her hands gleefully. “Adele, it’s your birthday.”
“You are warm,” Adele replied, “but it isn’t my birthday yet. It’s just going to be. Think of it, girls! Next week I shall be thirteen years old and almost a young lady.”
“Shall you do your hair up?” asked Rosamond Wright, whose dearest desire was to wear her curls twisted on high.