"Oh, is that so?" retorted Grace, reaching out for the candy box for
the twentieth time that morning. "Well, as my kind of nose has never,
under any circumstances whatsoever, been known to turn up--"

"Oh, do stop chattering," Mollie interrupted heartlessly. "Who cares
what kind of noses we've got? Go ahead, Betty, you'd better get
started before Grace gets to quarreling on the subject of eyelashes
or something."

"I never quarreled with my eyelashes," said Grace haughtily. "I leave
that to other people."

"My, isn't she conceited!" chuckled Betty. "Now I'm going to read,"
she added, letting her eyes rest upon the glaring headlines of the
first page. "If you want to listen, all right; and if you want to
talk about sweaters and eyelashes--"

"Oh, Betty, do go on," sighed Amy. "We've been waiting so long."

"All right," said Betty obligingly; then, as the full sense of what
she read was borne in upon her, her face clouded and she bit her lip
and shook her head.

"Girls," she began, and something in her tone made them drop their
knitting for a moment and gather anxiously about her. "Those, those--
Germans--"

"Huns, you mean," interrupted Mollie fiercely, as she read over the
Little Captain's shoulder.