"There, you see!" Patience turned to Hilary, "she doesn't deny it!"

"I'm not taking the trouble to deny or confirm little girl nonsense,"
Pauline declared. "But what makes you think I've been writing letters?"

"Oh, 'by the pricking of my thumbs'!" Patience rolled over, and
resting her sharp little chin in her hands, stared up at her sisters
from under her mop of short red curls. "Pen! Ink! Paper! And such a
lot of torn-up scraps! It's really very simple!"

But Pauline was on her way to the dining-room. "Terribly convincing,
isn't it?" Her tone should have squelched Patience, but it didn't.

"You can't fool me!" that young person retorted. "I know you've been
up to something! And I'm pretty sure father doesn't approve, from the
way you waited out there in the hall just now."

Pauline did not answer; she was busy laying the cloth for supper.
"Anything up, Paul?" Hilary urged, following her sister out to the
dining-room.

"The barometer--a very little; I shouldn't wonder if we had a clear day
to-morrow."

"You are as provoking as Impatience! But I needn't have asked; nothing
worth while ever does happen to us."

"You know perfectly well, Pauline Almy Shaw!" Patience proclaimed,
from the curtained archway between the rooms. "You know perfectly