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288 into a bunch, as she regarded Jane with her customary admiration.

“I wonder if you won’t be a novelist instead of a singer or actress, Janie,” she said. “You do see things!”

“Maybe I’ll be a telescope,” said Jane, turning on her heel and swinging down the hall, singing foolishly:

Jane could see when she’d look, so she wrote a great book,

Jane could see when she’d look, so she wrote a great book.”

The three girls were ready for supper before their mother, and they went out into the garden to wait for her. Whenever the Garden girls had to wait, or had a few spare moments, or had work to do that could be done there, it was as natural for them to stroll out into the garden paths as it would have been for a bird to fly out of an open window.

Mrs. Garden was not long following them. She came running downstairs, all in white, and stole up behind Mary, who had not seen her coming. “Why so grave, my little grandmother?” she asked.

“Was I?” Mary turned to her with a smile that was far from grave. “I was wondering