“‘Flora Winequist,’” she repeated aloud. “Why, I remember her. She died two years ago, rest her soul.”
“Here’s another old sounding name!” Connie exclaimed. “‘Hannah Goodhue.’ Her name is written in ink, but it’s still legible.”
“‘Prudence Smith,’” Veve read aloud. “‘Georgia Doan. Ella—’”
“I don’t recall any of those names,” said Mrs. Evans.
Veve, however, had forgotten the lady’s presence.
Very much excited, she was staring at the quilt block as if unable to believe her own eyesight.
“Why, Veve, what is the matter?” Connie inquired. Her little friend had such a peculiar expression on her face, she was afraid she might be ill.
“See this quilt block!”
“‘Ella Cooper,’” Connie read aloud. She could not understand the reason for Veve’s strange behavior.
“No! No! It isn’t Ella Cooper,” the other insisted impatiently. “Look again!”