“Is she? That’s nice, but Chicken Little, if you don’t want me to tell about you, you oughtn’t to tell about Katy—ought you?”
“I am not going to tell Ernest,” the child assured her hastily.
“Well, I don’t believe I’d tell anybody. It’s Katy’s little secret. Let her tell it if she wants to.”
Marian’s admonition was well-timed but she felt it was rather wasted later that afternoon. The little girls had accepted her invitation and had brought their flowers and May baskets over for her help and advice. Katy was filling hers deftly, chattering as she worked. She was especially particular with one, taking the flowers out and rearranging them several times before she could get them to her liking.
“That must be for someone very special, Katy.”
Katy looked pleased.
“Yes, it’s for a very—special friend.”
Marian saw that Katy wished to be questioned.
“Why, Katy, that sounds mysterious. I suppose we don’t dare ask who this friend is?”
“It’s somebody you know,” volunteered Gertie.