“Dear me, I heartily regret that I am not a little girl so that I might glory in this office and work,” sighed Mrs. Catlin, coming back to the grown-ups.
“You don’t have to be ‘little,’ Therese,” laughed Mrs. Talmage. “You are one of this juvenile club as surely as if you were but ten. Why, you couldn’t pass the place without coming in to ask for news.”
“To tell the truth, I was going to the village, but I heard the happy shouts away out on the road and so I just wanted to know the cause,” confessed Mrs. Catlin, smiling.
“I hope I may live a few years longer to see the results of this work,” sighed Aunt Selina.
“You will, Flutey, you will!” cried Dot, enthusiastically. “What Uncle Ben told you was really truly true!”
“And just think, Mrs. Catlin, Flutey is going to write a long serious story for our magazine all about the war that she was in!” cried Betty Stevens.
The grown-ups smiled at Betty’s idea of a “serial” story, but Mrs. Catlin looked surprised.
“Why, I never knew you were from the South?”
“I’m not, but I was visiting there during an exciting time, and Ben thinks my experience will make a readable story,” replied Aunt Selina.
Mrs. Catlin looked at the aged lady with interest and said how much she would like to hear the tale. Suddenly, however, she slapped her gloved hands together and spoke.