Dorothy had been sewing as she talked. She loved to do certain
kinds of stitches, particularly those of floss silk on fine flannel, and
this morning she had almost finished the shawl for John's wife's new baby.
Mrs. White had been out, and was just returning. She wore her handsome
prune-colored gown, with her mink-tail furs, and both Dorothy and Tavia
looked up in undisguised admiration as she entered the room.
Dorothy rose to assist her in removing her wraps.
"Well, it is finally settled," Mrs. White began. "I do think these charity
affairs are growing more complicated every year. I have not told you all
about it yet; in fact, I could not do so until this morning's meeting was
over. Now it is all arranged, so I must tell you about it."
"Aren't you cold, auntie?" asked Dorothy. "Shall I get you a warm drink?"
"No, my dear. We had chocolate at Mrs. Davis's. There, now, I am quite
comfortable," and as Dorothy laid the wraps aside her aunt settled among
the blue cushions, which, as Nat said, "grew in Dorothy's room."
"Is it to be a play?" asked Tavia, always impatient where acting might be
concerned.
"Well, not exactly," answered Mrs. White. "We think scenes from Mother
Goose will be simpler, and just as entertaining. Mrs. Brownlie has
offered her house, and I am to do most of the coaching."
This last was uttered with a note of dismay--to coach young people did not
seem a very delightful task, so many difficulties being sure to come up
unexpectedly.
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