CHAPTER III
MAKING PLANS
"I can't seem to get used to it," sighed Mollie several days later, as she ran up the steps of her porch and opened the screen door for the girls. "To think that no matter how much we want to go back to the Hostess House—"
"There is no Hostess House to go back to," finished Grace, sinking down in a luxurious porch swing and plumping the cushion behind her back. Grace always had a gift for finding the soft places. "It is rather discouraging."
"Just as we were going to work hard and forget how unhappy we were, too," added Amy plaintively.
"Goodness, but we're not going to be unhappy," put in Betty, rocking vigorously. "I thought we decided that three days ago."
"I know. But when we think—"
"But we musn't think," Betty interrupted quickly, adding with a little twinkle: "About being unhappy, that is. All we have to do is just hold on to the belief that the boys are coming back a year from now, maybe less—coming back without a hair less than they had when they went away."
"We didn't count 'em," said Mollie drolly. "The hairs, that is, so how can we tell?"