“To go to the station with a telegram, child, of course! Vic, give me a pencil and paper, please, and I will write it. I wish you would get some telegraph blanks, Peter. Do bring some home with you, for they are such a convenience. Now, let me see. ‘Mr. Dickinson Abbott,—State Street, Boston. Aunt Sophia has been here and has told us’—dear me, that is nine words before I began to tell him what she has told us,” said Honor, biting the end of her pencil. “Oh, there is ever so much you can scratch out,” said Katherine, taking the paper. “‘Sophia,’ for one. He knows we have only one aunt—for which blessing let us be thankful! ‘Aunt has been here and says—’ no, ‘Aunt here and says we must go there to live because—’” “Will it do to put all that in a telegram?” queried Victoria. “Why not just say, ‘Please come and see us; we want to talk to you on matters of importance.’” “That will do very well,” said Katherine, writing it, “and only fifteen words. Those extra five won’t cost much more.” “We could leave out ‘please,’” said Victoria. “That wouldn’t be polite.” “It isn’t necessary to be so very polite in a telegram,” remarked Honor, as she erased the word, “and if it is true that we have no money, we had better begin at once to be economical. And we could say ‘important matters,’ instead of ‘matters of importance.’ That would bring it down.” “And save five cents, I suppose,” laughed Katherine, derisively. “However, far be it from me to frustrate your good intentions.” “There,” said Honor, laying down her pencil and reading the amended message; “‘Come see us. We want to talk on important matters.’ Exactly ten words, and now my name—‘Honor Starr.’ Peter, are you ready? Why, you haven’t stirred! Peter!” And all his sisters with one voice exclaimed reproachfully, “Peter!” “Well, what’s the matter with Peter?” inquired that youth as he extended first one foot and then the other to the genial warmth of the blaze. He was sitting in an arm-chair before the fire. He was leaning back, and his hands were in his pockets. Peter was tall for his age, which was thirteen, and well developed. His hair and eyes were brown, as were those of all the family but Victoria, and he looked very much like Katherine. “Why are you not ready? You know we want you to go to the telegraph office. There is no time to be lost, for Mr. Abbott will have gone home. It is Saturday, and you know he always leaves the office early on Saturday. _Do_ hurry, Peter!” All the sisters were talking at once, even Sophy adding her voice to the clamor. “Keep cool! keep cool!” remarked Peter, continuing to warm his feet; “who’s the telegram to?” “Mr. Abbott, you _know_, Peter!” “What for?” “To ask him to come. You have heard us talking, Peter! Surely you are not deaf. Do hurry!” “What’s the use? You needn’t telegraph him.” “Why not? Oh, don’t stop to argue, you dreadful boy!” cried Katherine. “Just go at once. We want Mr. Abbott.”