Yes, yes, they were willing.
“For,” I said, “one could scarcely make up prettier names: I like them all, Marian, Ruth, Florence, Virginia, Henry and Alfred.”
“Yes,” answered Marian, “we like our own names.”
“And you have really helped me to write it,” I said, “for I have all your papers. That’s why I wanted them, to prove that I was not inventing the whole thing.”
“Are you putting them in just as we wrote them?” asked Marian.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Oh, please,” she begged, “correct my spelling and my bad construction.”
“I will correct your spelling and your punctuation, but nothing else.”
“Oh, please,” she said, “change the places where I repeated myself. I wrote them so hastily.”
“I suppose,” I said, “that what was good enough for me will be good enough for any one. Don’t you think so? I always wanted to write a book like this, and as I didn’t have brains enough to invent it alone, I made you help me. It is a real live book. We have lived it together.”