“Well, here is one for Miss Barbara.”
“Hurray, it’s from Peyton!” that maiden squealed. Adding, “Betsy, that rhyme must have been magic, for, see, I got just what I wished for.”
But there was no letters at all for Margaret, but there was a very plump one from the West for Virginia. Too, there was a foreign looking envelope addressed to Eleanor Burgess, and Sally received a letter from her doting mother.
The empty pouch was hung in its customary place by the door of the principal’s office, for, into it, all outgoing letters were to be dropped. Then, on the day following, when Mr. Peters brought more mail, he would take that pouch from its hook and start the letters on their journeys to widely separated destinations.
Eleanor, who was eager to be all alone when she read this pen-visit from her mother, excused herself and went down the steps and sat on a rustic bench in the blossoming orchard.
Sally and Betsy went to their own Sweet Pickle Alley, while the other three girls sauntered down toward the cliff to read the letter from the desert. Although there was no especially exciting news either from Peyton or Malcolm, it meant much to those three girls to be transported even in imagination to V. M. ranch.
When the letters had been read, they sat in a row on the top of the steep cliff gazing down at the even roll of the waves far beneath them, for, as the tide was low, the surf was not crashing against the rocks.
Suddenly there was a growling noise in the underbrush back of them.
They all looked around almost startled, but it was Betsy Clossen’s mischievous face that peered out at them.
The girls sprang up and surrounded the bushes. Sally was also there in hiding. “It’s nearly lunch time,” Betsy announced. “Come on, let’s get Eleanor and storm the kitchen. Mrs. Dorsey likes me, and I’m going to ask her to let me have two helpings of dessert.”