"Why, sometimes, Uncle Fred, you act as if you weren't any more than nine," said Alene, returning to the book with an air of tolerant resignation that amused the young man. He crossed to her side.
"Tell me what you are hunting; perhaps I can help you."
Alene ignored his air of exaggerated solemnity.
"You see, Laura said one must be twelve years old to be legible—to the Club, you know."
"Then if I'm not too old, I'm old enough to belong! But if I were you, I'd quit the L's and try something else very like it, with an E before," suggested Uncle Fred.
"Eligible, of course—how stupid of me!"
On the way upstairs that night Alene paused and gave way to a fit of laughter.
"What's the fun now?" called Uncle Fred from his cosy position by the table.
"It seems so funny to think that I," here came a series of mirthful sounds, "to think that you would think that I was afraid of you."
Uncle Fred's chair was overturned by his energetic uprising in pursuit of the little tease, who heeded the warning and was safely out of sight on the landing, with one parting giggle as the door of her room was shut with a resounding clap.