dleness; so I've been trying to brush up my Greek
verbs by way of keeping out of mischief. Have you any better
employment to offer me?"

"If it were only a mild drizzle we might go around and see the
Patterson girls," sighed Carol. "But there is no venturing out in such
a downpour. Cyrilla, you are supposed to be the brainiest one of us.
Prove your claim to such pre-eminence by thinking of some brand-new
amusement, especially suited to rainy afternoons. That will be putting
your grey matter to better use than squandering it on Greek verbs out
of study limits."

"If only I'd got a letter from home today," said Mary, who seemed
determined to persist in gloom. "I wouldn't mind the weather. Letters
are such cheery things:--especially the letters my sister writes.
They're so full of fun and nice little news. The reading of one cheers
me up for the day. Cyrilla Blair, what is the matter? You nearly
frightened me to death!" Cyrilla had bounded from her bed to the
centre of the floor, waving her Greek grammar wildly in the air.

"Girls, I have an inspiration!" she exclaimed.

"Good! Let's hear it," said Carol.

"Let's write letters--rainy-day letters--to everyone in the house,"
said Cyrilla. "You may depend all the rest of the folks under Mrs.
Plunkett's hospitable roof are feeling more or less blue and lonely
too, as well as ourselves. Let's write them the jolliest, nicest
letters we can compose and get Nora Jane to take them to their rooms.
There's that pale little sewing girl, I don't believe she ever gets
letters from anybody, and Miss Marshall, I'm sure _she_ doesn't, and
poor old Mrs. Johnson, whose only son died last month, and the new
music teacher who came yesterday, a letter of welcome to her--and old
Mr. Grant, yes, and Mrs. Plunkett too, thanking her for all her
kindness to us. You knew she has been awfully nice to us in spite of
the oil stove ukase. That's six--two apiece. Let's do it, girls."

Cyrilla's sudden enthusiasm for her plan infected the others.

"It's a nice idea," said Mary, brightening up. "But who's to write to
whom? I'm willing to take anybody but Miss Marshall. I couldn't write
a line to her to save my life. She'd be horrified at anything funny or
jokey and our letters will have to be mainly nonsense--nonsense of the
best brand, to be sure, but still nonsense."

"Better leave Miss Marshall out," suggested Carol. "You know she
disapproves of us anyhow. She'd probably resent a letter of the s