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There is to be a great fete in your mother's room to-day. The Grace Church Sewing Society is to meet there at 10 A. M. that is, if the members are impervious to water. I charged the two Mildreds to be seated with their white aprons on and with scissors and thimbles in hand. I hope they may have a refreshing time. Good-bye. "Your father, "R. E. Lee. "Robert E. Lee."
"He'll miss me when he finds that his crops are being eaten by mildreds of insects." Whether he meant millions or hundreds it would be hard to say. You see, Mr. Crow was not good at arithmetic. He always had trouble counting higher than ten. And then, the very day before he had planned to move, Mr. Crow noticed something that made him change his mind.
"It's almost as beautiful as Kentucky, Kent," observed Mildred Brown, and Jimmy Lufton laughed joyfully. "Almost, but not quite," he said. "In Kentucky there would be twice as much of everything, and, besides the elms, there would be beech trees and maples with a good sprinkling of walnut and locust." "Twice as many Mildreds, too," observed Kent.
And while the Mildreds danced with their Arthur Russells the best an outsider could do for herself was to sit with Frank Dowling the one last course left her that was better than dancing with him. "Well, what DO you want to talk about?" he inquired. "Nothing," she said. "Suppose we just sit, Frank." But a moment later she remembered something, and, with a sudden animation, began to prattle.
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