“No. I haven’t any cold,” protested Jimsi, “really I haven’t, Aunt Phoebe.” Here she felt again like giggling over the letter concealed under Aunt Phoebe’s plate and had to cough again.
“Well,” declared the play aunt, “I’ll have to stop that cough! Did you wear your rubbers?”
“Honest injun!”
“It isn’t anything—just—er—er—Oh, nothing!”
“I hope so.”
The talk drifted to the morning. “What did you and Joyce find to do?” asked Aunt Phoebe.
“We embroidered and painted.”
“You always have a nice time there, don’t you, dear?”
“Yes, Aunt Phoebe.”
Jimsi wanted to tell all about it, but—how could she till after Aunt Phoebe found the crow letter. She waited. After what seemed a long time, the little maid changed the plates and lo—why there was a letter right under Aunt Phoebe’s plate!