a few twigs and sticks togethah just in any kind of way, and nevah mind
a bit if their poah little young ones fall out of the nest. They seem to
think that any kind of home is good enough, and that is the kind of a
home that Elizabeth Lewis has. She is a poah little orphan, and is
livin' on a farm up Green Rivah. Mother is her godmothah. That's why she
is named Elizabeth Lloyd. Mrs. Lewis was an old school friend of
mothah's, too, and she wants Joyce and Elizabeth and me to be as deah
friends as she and Emily Ware and Joyce Lewis were, she says. That's why
she invited them."

"And you don't know anything about this one?" questioned Rob.

"Not a thing. I shouldn't be su'prised if she's mighty countrified, for
the farm is several miles from a railroad, and the people she lives with
don't think of anything but work, yeah in and yeah out."

They had reached the post-office by this time, and Rob held out his hand
for the letters. "I'll put them in for you," he said. Then, dropping
them into the box, one by one, he repeated the rhyme:

"One flew east and one flew west.
And one flew into the cuckoo's nest."

Lloyd added, quickly:

"Eugenia, Joyce, or Elizabeth,
Which of the three shall we like best?"

"Joyce," said Rob, promptly.