“And they found it all in a heap on the pavement in the yard,” again interrupted Edith, anxious to forestall the climax; “I have heard all about it, they say it was an awful sight.”
“Dead?” cried Nathalie in a shocked tone.
“No, not dead,” returned Jessie, “but it might as well have been. It had become frightened in the dark, said some one was chasing it, and in trying to escape climbed out on a shed and fell to the ground. Mrs. Van Vorst was ill for a long time, almost lost her mind. Then she gave up society and came down here and built this big house beside the homestead. She has lived in it ever since, but keeps to herself; she doesn’t seem to want to know people.”
“Oh, I don’t wonder she mourns in gray then!” exclaimed Nathalie. “I feel sorry for her!”
“And so do I!” chimed Helen squeezing her new friend’s hand responsively, “for she will have to suffer remorse all her life. Mother says she is to be pitied.”
“Well, I should have more pity for her if she would let us have the lawn back of her house for our flag drill,” remarked Lillie Bell, “or for one of our demonstrations.”
“You can be sure I’ll never ask her again,” declared the Sport, vehemently; “I believe she hates us just because we are young, and can enjoy life when her child can’t.”
At this moment Grace arose and handed Nathalie a peculiar-looking envelope of rough brown paper. “No, it won’t explode,” she giggled, as she saw Nathalie handling the quaintly-folded envelope rather gingerly.
“You needn’t think it is the butcher’s bill, either,” laughed Helen, “for it isn’t. It is simply an invitation to one of our group meetings, or Pioneer Rallies, as we call them. We always use that kind of paper when we invite guests, for it was the kind used in pioneer times.”
Reassured by Helen’s explanation, Nathalie opened the envelope, noting the old-style script printed by hand in scarlet letters, evidently the work of one of the Pioneers. Then she slowly read aloud: