prefer that the boys should experiment with them.'

'It's the softest seat here, too,' grumbled Margery. 'We must get
the boys to cut these bushes down. Why, you haven't any book, you
lazy Polly. Are you going to sleep, or shall you chatter and prevent
our reading?'

'Neither,' she answered. 'Here is a doughnut which I propose to send
down the red pathway of fate; and here a pencil and paper with which
I am going to begin our round-robin letter to Elsie.'

'That's good! She has only had notes from Jack and one letter from
us, which, if I remember right, had nothing in it.'

'Thanks! I wrote it,' sniffed Bell.

'Well, I meant it had no news--no account of things, you know.'

'No, I wouldn't descend to writing news, and I leave accounts to the
butcher.'

'Stop quarrelling, girls! This is my plan: I will begin in my usual
rockety style, sometimes maliciously called the Pollyoliver method;
Margery will take up the thread sedately; Bell will plunge in with a
burst of enthusiasm and seventeen adjectives, followed by a verse of
poor poetry; Geoff will do the sportive or instructive, just as he
happens to feel; and Phil will wind up the letter by some practical
details which will serve as a key to all the rest. Won't it be a box
of literary bonbons for her to read in bed, poor darling! Let me
see! I represent the cayenne lozenges, sharp but impressive; Margery