“Then I must have slept hours! What time is it?”
“Five-thirty. Do you feel better, Penny?”
“I think I do. From my eyebrows up anyway.”
While Penny ate her dinner, Mrs. Downey sat beside her and chatted.
“At least there’s nothing wrong with my appetite,” the girl laughed, rapidly emptying the dishes. “At home Mrs. Weems says I eat like a wolf. Oh, by the way, any mail?”
“None for you.”
Penny’s face clouded. “It’s funny no one writes me. Don’t you think I might at least get an advertising circular?”
“Well, Christmas is coming,” Mrs. Downey said reasonably. “The holiday season always is such a busy time. Folks have their shopping to do.”
“Not Dad. Usually he just calls up the Personal Shopper at Hobson’s store and says: ‘She’s five-feet three, size twelve and likes bright colors. Send out something done up in gift wrapping and charge to my account.’” Penny sighed drearily. “Then after Christmas I have to take it back and ask for an exchange.”
“Have you ever tried giving your father a list?” suggested Mrs. Downey, smiling at the description.