CHAPTER XXI.
THE PRINCE COMETH.
"A letter from Mrs. Macon, I think," said Morton, handing it across the
table to Sara, with a glance at the western postmark.
"I shouldn't wonder if it is to announce their return," she remarked,
opening it.
"Heaven forbid!" groaned Molly. "I love the Macons, but I adore their
home! Why don't you praise these muffins, Morton? I made 'em."
"Is that what ails them?" making a wry face. "Give me another at once.
We must make way with them as fast as possible!" and Molly passed him
the plate, with a well-pleased laugh.
"Yes," interrupted Sara, looking up, "they will be at home inside of a
fortnight, but she kindly says,--
"'Don't hurry to find rooms. I want to help you decide, and I shall be
so glad to come home to a houseful of young people rather than to the
usual gloom and stuffiness of long-closed rooms; besides, I have a
proposition to make you.'"
"What can it be?" cried Molly. "She may want me to stay, in place of
Hetty, for cook." "And me for coachman," added Morton, buttering his
third muffin.
"Then, Sara, there is nothing left for you but to be lady's maid!"
giggled the other twin.
"I should rather like the position," smiled Sara, "to read aloud to her,
answer her notes, do her errands, and"--
"Button her boots!" put in atrocious Molly again, at which Morton
slapped at her with his napkin, when she fled--pursued by him--to the
veranda, where decency demanded a cessation of hostilities.
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