Jean sat for a few minutes after reading this, without unfolding the girls’ letters. Mothers were wonderful persons, she thought. Their brooding wings stretched so far over one, and gave forth a love and protectiveness such as nothing else in the world could do. The next was from Helen, quite like her too. Brief and beautifully penned on her very own violet tinted note paper. DEAR JEANIE: I do hope you have met the wonderful Contessa. I can picture her in my mind. You know Father’s picture of Marie Stuart with the pearl cap? Well, I’ve been wondering if she looked like that. I know they wore pearl caps in Italy because Juliet wore one. I’d love a pearl cap. Tell me what Carlota talks about, and what color are her eyes! School is very uninteresting just now, and it is cold driving over to the car. But I have one teacher I love, Miss Simmons. Jean, she has the face of Priscilla exactly, and she is descended from Miles Standish, really and truly. She told me so, and Kit said if all of his descendants could be bunched together, they would fill a state. You know Kit. Miss Simmons wears a low lace collar with a small cameo pin, and her voice is beautiful. I can’t bear people with loud voices. When I see her in the morning, it just wipes out all the cold drive and everything that’s gone wrong. Well, Kit says it’s time to go to bed. I forgot to tell you, unless Mother has already in her letter, that Mr. McRae is coming from Saskatoon with Honey, and he will stay here. Doris hopes he will bring her a tame bear cub. Your loving sister, Helen Beatrice Robbins. “Oh, Helenita, you little goose,” Jean laughed, shaking her head. The letter was so entirely typical of Helen and her vagaries. A mental flash of the dear old Contessa in a pearl cap came to her. She must remember to tell Cousin Beth about that tomorrow. Doris’s letter was hurried and full of maternal cares. DEAR SISTER: We miss you awfully. Shad got hurt yesterday. His foot was jammed when a tree fell on it, but Joe is helping him, and I think they like each other better. We are setting all the hens that want to set. The minute I notice one clucking I tell Mother, and we fix a nest for her. Father has the incubator going, but it may go out if we forget to put in oil, Shad says, and the hens don’t forget to keep on the nests. Bless Mother Nature, Mrs. Gorham says. She made caramel filling today the way you do, and it all ran out in the oven, and she said the funniest thing. “Thunder and lightning.” Just like that. And when I laughed, she told me not to because she ought not to say such things, but when cooking things went contrariwise, she just lost her head entirely. Isn’t that fun? Send me a pressed pink rose. I’d love it.