"Jack, you tell," said Trix generously, feeling it proper to resign the glory to the man of the party.
"Well, you know, Miss Isabel," Jack said willingly, "it's Margery's scheme, and we thought it so good we're going to call it the Happy Thought Club. We're going to have a post-office in Uncle Gresham's orchard."
"With five boxes, one for you," put in Amy, who had been hopping about wildly, first on one foot and then on the other, longing to speak.
"Yes, and we're each going to take a name and write letters to one another, and have a badge, and—and—oh, everything," concluded Jack, waving his hands, as if to include the universe.
"And you're to be in it, you're to be in it!" cried Trix and Amy, hugging Miss Isabel at the same time.
"Of course she's in it; it wouldn't be much if she weren't," said Jack.
"What do you think of it; you haven't said a word?" asked Margery anxiously.
"But that was owing to circumstances over which I have no control," laughed Miss Isabel. "Here are you chattering like four of the blackbirds baked in the pie, with the other twenty flown away, and how could I say anything? I think it is a splendumphant plan, and that is a portmanteau word, such as Humpty Dumpty taught Alice in Looking-Glass Land, and it means splendid and triumphant. I am deeply sensible of the honor you do me, ladies and gentleman, in inviting me to join the club, and I accept with joy and gratitude." And Miss Isabel took her pink skirts in each hand, and dropped them a real dancing-school courtesy.
"Might one ask what names you have chosen?" she said.
"We were going to be people in history," said Margery. "I was going to be Mary Queen of Scots, and Trix wanted to be Anthony Wayne, or Lafayette, or Napoleon, or something else."