I've always told Mother everything that has happened.

Oh, of course, I haven't written "every few minutes," as she asked me to.

(That was a joke, anyway, of course.) But I have written every few days, and, as I said before, I told her everything.
Well, when the letter came I took it to Aunt Jane myself; and I was _crazy_ to know what was in it, for I recognized the writing, of course.

But Aunt Jane didn't tell me.

She opened it, read it, kind of flushed up, and said, "Humph! The idea!" under her breath, and put the letter in her pocket.
Marie wanted to make a scene and insist on knowing what was in her own mother's letter; but Mary contented herself with looking superb and haughty and disdainful, and marching out of the room without giving Aunt Jane the satisfaction of even being asked what was in that letter.
But at the table that noon Aunt Jane read it to Father out loud.