"Mother," said Ellen, flashing into radiance at the slightest
encouragement, "have you told them about our Flower Festibul plans?"

"Oh, not yet!" Mrs. Burgoyne heaved a great sigh. "I'm afraid I've
committed myself to an entry for the parade," she told the others
ruefully.

"Oh, don't tell me you're going to compete!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown.

"Well, we're rather afraid we are!" Mrs. Burgoyne's voice, if
fearful, was hopeful too, for Ellen's face was a study. "Why, is it
such a terrible effort?"

"Oh, yes, it's an appalling amount of struggle and fuss, there's all
sorts of red tape, and the flowers are so messy," answered the
doctor's wife warningly, "and this year will be worse than ever. The
Women's Club of Apple Creek is going to enter a carriage, and you
know our club is to have the White's motor; it will be perfectly
exquisite! It's to be all pink carnations, and Mr. White's nephew, a
Berkeley boy, and some of his friends, all in white flannels, are
going to run it. Doctor says there'll be a hundred entries this
year."

"Well, I'm afraid I'm in for it," said Mrs. Burgoyne, with a sigh.
"I haven't the least idea in the world what I'm going to do. It
isn't as if we even had a surrey. But I really was involved before I
had time to think. You know I've been trying, with some of my spare
time," her eyes twinkled, "to get hold of these little factory and
cannery girls over in Old Paloma."