“That would be fun; let us hope for it. I heard Mrs. Trout tell Mrs. Clayton that her quilt would have to be shown on the old table over there.”
“And that’s the family table of the Brownell’s, older than Age itself, I believe,” Cara continued to whisper. “I doubt if they’ll allow any quilt upon its sacred surface.”
“That’s why we may hope for a prize-fight,” said Barbara, hurrying to the door to take from the hands of Mrs. Mary Ann Smalley a glass case of utterly impossible wax flowers.
A flock of girls, all on the girls’ committee, and expected to work under the directions of Cara and Barbara, arrived just in time.
“We don’t dare put the wax flowers on the floor,” said Cara to Esther, “but where can we put them?”
“Better get a carpenter to make a long table for us——”
“My flowers must have a proper setting,” Mrs. Mary Ann Smalley interrupted Cara. “That table over there——”
“That’s the famous Brownell table,” Cara said, smiling that this one table with its elaborate carvings should be in such great demand.
“Well, I don’t care whose it is, it’s just made for my wax flowers,” insisted the excited exhibitor, just as Mrs. Nathaniel Brownell herself fluttered in.
Then, as Babs put it, the fight was on.