Linnet laughed and scrutinized the white handled knives to see if there
were any blemishes on the blades; her mother kept them laid away in old
flannel.

"Now, Linnet, you see it isn't a joke," began Marjorie, protestingly;
"the word is made of all the first letters of the seven colors,--just
see!" counting on her fingers, "violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow,
orange, red! Did you see how it comes right?"

"I didn't see, but I will as soon as I get time. You were not taken in
that time, I do believe. Did Mr. Woodfern ask you questions?"

"Not _that_ kind! And I'm glad he didn't. Linnet, I haven't any
'experience' to talk about."

"You are not old enough," said Linnet, wisely.

"Are you?"

"Yes, I have a little bit."

"Shall you tell him about it?" asked Marjorie curiously.

"I don't know."

"I wish I had some; how do you get it?"

"It comes."