"This? why, yes; I didn't think,"--tearing it open. "This seems to be a
Report of the Twelfth Annual Meeting"--
"Oh, do look and see if it's got your letter in!" broke in impatient
Molly, springing up, and letting her shells drop in a pearly shower to
the floor.
Sara turned the leaves excitedly, then stopped; and her sweet face
flushed a vivid crimson.
"It is--it is here--in print--just as I wrote it; and it says, 'Letter
from Miss Sara Olmstead, of Killamet, in which the vexed question is
definitely settled.'"
Many of us have experienced the tingling rapture of seeing our opinions
in print for the first time; but it could be to few what it was to Sara,
isolated, and of humble station as she was. It seemed as if that thrill
of pleasure came from the very centre of her being, and tingled even to
her finger-tips, while Morton and Molly, more demonstrative, if not more
glad, danced about her with regular whoops of delight; after which the
former mounted an uncertain chair for a rostrum, and read off the
modest, concise, and clear little epistle with a flourish that ending in
a crash, as the chair gave way, and landed him in the midst of Molly's
shells, with crushing effect.
"Oh, oh!" laughed Sara, "do be careful;" while, with a scream of dismay,
Molly fled to the rescue of her treasures.
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