By this time they were in the hall, and Eddy, still full of grievances, was picking up the scattered roses. “I suppose there won't be enough salad for my friend and his mother when they come,” said he, further.
“Who are your friend and his mother, darling?”
“Mr. Anderson and his mother,” declared Eddy, promptly. “He is the best man in this town, and so is his mother.”
“Mr. Anderson, dear?”
“Yes. You know who I mean. You ought to know. He always lets us have all we want out of his store. He and his mother are the nicest people in this town except us.”
Charlotte looked at her little brother and her face flushed softly. “But, dear,” she whispered, “they did not have any invitations to the reception.”
“Yes, they did,” declared Eddy, triumphantly.
“Why, who sent them?”
“I did,” said Eddy.
Charlotte regarded her little brother with a curious expression. It was amused, and yet strangely puzzled, but more as if the puzzle were in her own mind than elsewhere. It was as if she were trying to remember something.