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Updated: June 2, 2025
Pickrell, bless her heart, will be down on us for burning so much midnight oil. Oil has gone up, you know, girls." It was in the early morning that Miss Allen opened her door. But early as it was, another door down the hall was half open too and five rosy faces were peering cautiously out.
"Hasn't Miss Allen any friends at all?" asked Beth. "No, I don't think she has," answered Jean. "She has lived here for fourteen years, so Mrs. Pickrell says. Think of that, girls! Fourteen years at Chestnut Terrace! Is it any wonder that she is thin and dried-up and snappy?" "Nobody ever comes to see her and she never goes anywhere," said Beth. "Dear me!
"Do you know, girls, this evening I went to her room with a message from Mrs. Pickrell, and I do believe she had been crying. Her room looked dreadfully bare and cheerless, too. I think she is very poor. What are we to do, Jean?" "Let us each give her something nice. We can put the things just outside of her door so that she will see them whenever she opens it.
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