"Jack, come here!" cried Trix and Amy, waving their hands wildly to Jack, who appeared that moment in the gate. "Hurry! oh, hurry!"
Jack ran over to them.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Mr. Dean's sent Margery's poetry to the magazine. Look at it!" cried Trix, snatching the magazine from the hands of the dazed authoress.
"Oh, jolly me!" cried Jack, much impressed. "Why, you're a writer now, like—like—oh, those people what write poetry for the papers."
"I'm going to find mamma," said Margery, rising in solemn ecstasy; "and then I'm going to thank him."
Having rejoiced her family with a glimpse of her greatness, Margery went forth, attended by her admiring cousin and friends. First they went to the Evergreens—they had determined never to call the place "the Dismals" again, since it had become so pleasant to them, and, they wakened Mr. Dean from the nap into which he had fallen over his book, overcome by the great heat.
"You are very good to me; I came to thank you," said Margery simply, kissing him as she spoke.
"Did you like it, little white dove?" he asked, taking the poetess on his knee. "You are such a grave dove, and so still when you feel glad or sorry that it is hard telling when you are pleased."