Lucile Triumphant. Elizabeth M. Duffield
“Naturally,” Marjorie agreed. “Perhaps you will remember that just before the girls came you spoke of our changing our tune, or something to that effect, in regard to Miss Howland.”
“Mrs. Wescott, I suppose you mean?” Lucile inquired, blandly, “It seems to me I did say something like that. What would you like to know?”
“What you meant by it,” shouted Marjorie, and Margaret added, “Go ahead, give it to us, Lucy. I have an idea that’s what you called us here for.”
“Smart child,” approved Jessie, with an approving pat and nod of the head. “You’re coming right along.”
Margaret thrilled with a pleasure that was almost pain. “She never would have dared say that to me before,” she cried to herself, exultantly. “She would have been too afraid of hurting me. Now I know I’m just like all the rest!”
25
CHAPTER IV
COUNTING THE HOURS
“You’re right, Margaret,” Lucile was saying. “I did call you all together just to speak of our guardian.”
The girls leaned forward eagerly. “What about her?” they demanded.
“Oh, Lucy, don’t keep us waiting,” begged Marjorie. “Is she coming to Burleigh?”
“Not so fast,” cried Lucile. “Give me half a chance. I haven’t heard from our guardian personally, but Phil got a letter from Jim the other day and he said——” Lucile paused dramatically.
“Yes, yes; go on,” they demanded, excitedly.
“And she said that Mr. and Mrs. Wescott were going to visit Burleigh very soon.”
“Soon,” cried Margaret. “That sounds good. Always before it’s been something that was going to happen in the dim future.”
“Did she say any special time, Lucy?” Ruth broke in, impatiently.
“No, there was nothing definite about it,” said Lucile, “but I expect to hear from her almost any minute now.”
“There comes the postman—perhaps he will bring you a letter,” suggested Evelyn.
“Oh, what’s the use of raising our hopes?” admonished Jessie. “There’s just about one chance in a thousand that the letter will come when we want it.”
“All we can do is wait,” said Lucile, philosophically. “In the meantime, suppose we all suggest something that 26 we can do to welcome her—make her feel how truly glad we are to see her. Somebody suggest something.”
“For goodness’ sake, Lucy,” Marjorie exclaimed, “you might better have left me out of this. I’m no good at all when it comes to using any imagination.”
“You have probably as much as any of us, and you can’t get out of helping that way,” said Lucile, decidedly.
“From things she has said, I should give her credit for a good deal of imagination,” quoth Jessie, slyly.
“Oh, I’ll get even for all those awful things you have said to me and about me, Jessie Sanderson,” Marjorie threatened, good-naturedly. “I’d do it now, only I’m too busy trying to think up a plan.”
“Good girl; keep it up,” commended Lucile, and then, as she caught a murmured “That’s just an excuse” from Jessie’s direction, she cried, with a scarcely suppressed laugh, “Perhaps you would be doing a little more good in the world, Jessie, if you would follow her example.”
“Bravo!” cried Evelyn. “That’s one for you, Jessie,” and promptly received a withering glance from that young lady, which said as plainly as words, “You just wait; there’ll be a day of reckoning, and then——”
“Here comes the postman,” cried Margaret. “Shall I take the mail, Lucy?”
“Please,” she answered, and a moment later Margaret handed her half a dozen envelopes, while the girls looked on in eager silence.
“Is it there?” cried one of the girls, at last.
“Not yet,” said Lucile, but as she turned over the last letter, she uttered a cry of amazement and delight that sent all the girls crowding about her.
“That is her handwriting,” exclaimed Evelyn, and then there ensued such a babble of wonder and delight and excited speculation as to its contents that Lucile was finally 27 obliged to shout, “If you will only sit down, girls. I’ll see what’s inside, and please stop making such an unearthly noise—we’ll have the reserves out to quell the riot before we know it.”
The girls laughed and distributed themselves about the porch, as many as could possibly get there crowding the rail on either side of Lucile, while they all listened with bated breath to what their guardian had to say.
“To Lucile and all my dear camp-fire girls,” read Lucile. “I planned to come to Burleigh long ago, as you all know, and was bitterly disappointed when I was forced at the last minute to change my plans.”
“So were we,” said Evelyn, and was greeted by a chorus of impatient “sh-sh” as Lucile went on:
“But this time I am as sure as I can ever be of anything that my plans won’t fall through. I expect to be in Burleigh by the twenty-fifth.”
“Oh, think of it! That’s day after to-morrow!” Margaret exclaimed, rapturously.
“That’s what it is,” Jessie agreed.
“Go on, Lucy; what more has she to say?” demanded another of the girls, and Lucile went on with her reading.
The rest of the letter contained descriptions of her travels and all she had seen, ending up with: “When I see my girls, I will tell you all I have been writing now, and a great deal more, and will expect to hear more fully than they have been able to write me all that has happened to them during the last six months. I am counting the hours till I see you all again. Good-by till then, dear girls. Your own loving guardian.”
“That’s all,” Lucile finished. “Now we know when she’s coming.”
“Isn’t she dear, and didn’t the whole thing sound just like her?” cried Jessie.
“Exactly,” agreed Evelyn, and then added, “If she is counting the hours till she sees us, I wonder what we’ll be doing.” 28
“We’ll be making the hours count,” said Lucile.
“Good for you, Lucy; that’s what I call efficiency,” cried Marjorie. “Make time work for us.”
“Yes, but how are we going to do it?” said Ruth, distrustfully.
“I’ll tell you,” Lucile answered. “I thought that we ought to give our guardian a surprise when she comes. She hasn’t been here for so long, and we ought to make it something she will remember.”
“You’ve thought of something, Lucy; I can tell that,” cried Jessie. “Suppose you let us know about it.”
“Go ahead, Lucy—we’ll let you think for all the rest of us,” Marjorie suggested. “You can do it better, anyway.”
“How very kind of you!” mocked Lucile. “I appreciate your generosity immensely.”
“Go on; tell us your