"A plant?" queried Betty. "What kind—a flower or a T.N.T. factory?"
"A plot was what I meant," explained Mollie patiently, while the others chuckled.
"A plot!" repeated Grace, with a return of her drawl. "Heavens, Mollie, if there is anything in signs you ought to be a great author some day from the way you're always seeing a plot in everything."
"Thank you, I hope so," said Mollie.
"Well, for goodness' sake get to the point," urged Grace impatiently, glancing at the clock. "We'll have to dress pretty soon, to go down to serve the regular afternoon tea to the soldier boys and their friends."
"Oh, it just occurred to me," Mollie explained, "that perhaps the boys had met some girls in town they liked better than they like us and had gotten up a conspiracy—to—to—quarrel with us—"
"What a brilliant idea!" scoffed Grace. "Especially as the boys have been following us around like Mary's little lamb, and have scared all the other boys away."
"And without being conceited at all," added Amy, with a chuckle, "the girls I've seen around the town really aren't calculated to steal their hearts away."
"In that case, haven't we still got Sergeant Mullins?" chuckled Betty.
They laughed, and Mollie added, as they started to dress for the afternoon: