Amy had listened with more seriousness. She could be attentive and appreciative if she wished. The paragraph her chum read was interesting.
“Go ahead. Read some more,” she said. “Is that all sure enough so, Jess?”
“Of course it is so. Don’t you see it is printed here?”
“You mustn’t believe everything you see in print, Jess. My grandfather was reported killed in the Civil War, and he came home and pointed out several things they had got wrong in the newspaper obituary—especially the date of his demise. Now this——”
“I am going to get a book about it, and that will tell us just what to do in getting a radio set established.”
“I’ll tell you the first thing to do,” scoffed Amy. “Dig down into your pocketbook.”
“It won’t cost much. But I mean to have a good one.”
“All right, dear. I am with you. Never let it be said I deserted Poll. What is the first move?”
“Now, let me see,” murmured Jessie, staring off across the sunflecked lawn.
The Norwood estate was a grand place. The house, with its surrounding porches, stood in Roselawn upon a knoll with several acres of sloping sod surrounding it and a lovely little lake at the side. There was a long rose garden on either side of the house, and groups of summer roses in front. Roses, roses, roses, everywhere about the place! The Norwoods all loved them.