from the fireside chair that held heaped shawls and a clattering cup and saucer.
"Has thee seen these notices of the dear child's book?" Aunt Susannah pulled them from her knitting-bag. "A clipping bureau sends them to me—did thee ever hear of such a thing? Talbot Towne told me about it. 'Exquisite little songs' And here's another: 'Reminiscent of Christina Rossetti' Mm-m! 'Whipped cream and sugared rose leaves' Thee might throw that one in the fire, Johnnie; it's not worth keeping. Here's one that says 'underlying feeling of spirituality.' I'll leave them here so all of thee can read them."
"How many copies has thee bought, Johnnie?" Aunt Ann asked, suspiciously.
"Oh, plenty," Uncle Johnnie answered, finishing his sherry.
"I don't know where mother's going to put them if she buys any more."
"What's that, Clara?" Aunt Deborah quavered.
