She was lying back among the pillows with bandaged eyes, but there was a smile on her lips.
"Come in, girls," she cried.

"Godmother and I are making alphabet rhymes.

We started at A, and have been taking turns.

She has just made a good one: 'P is a pie-man, portly and proud, pugnaciously prattling'-- What's the rest of it, godmother?
You tell them.

I have forgotten." But Mrs.Sherman's rhyme was broken short in an astonished exclamation, as her glance fell on the Little Colonel.
"Why, Lloyd Sherman!" she cried.