“You mean spoofing, Clee,” insisted Grace. “If you will read trash why don’t you do it with a pad and pencil?”
“But all joking aside, girls, can’t you imagine what all this really means? I think Peg is the bravest girl we have ever met,” Corene declared heartily.
“Oh, much,” added Grace, with a side step not indicated in the factory recreational programme. “Can’t we do something to testify to our esteem? You know, the little ‘token of’ business.”
“Kindly keep your skirts away from my wheel,” ordered Corene, still grinding, “or you may get a most unexpected ‘token of’ around the ankles.”
“Your dad was a wonderful draftsman, Peg,” commented Cleo, with her newly trained eye tracing the intricacies of the drawing board. “I never could learn to follow such fine lines and measurements.”
“They wouldn’t look well on your nut-bowl or your candle-sticks, Clee,” remarked Louise. “Better stick to the school designs; they’re simpler.”
“This is all very lovely, and more absorbing than the mechanical display at the State fair,” put in Julia, “but you know, girls, Peg hasn’t really hired us yet.”
A tap at the door interrupted.
“Peg,” called Miss Ramsdell. “Here’s a message.”
Quickly opening the door, the girl accepted from the aunt the yellow paper, but there was no need to read its simple statement, for the joyous face of Aunt Carrie gave out the good tidings. Still Peg read aloud: