The room they called the Den in Winnie Merriam's house was dark, except for the leaping wood-fire in the big stone fireplace. Around the fire sat and lay five girls. They had been toasting marshmallows, but they were past the point where you eat the toasted ones with pleasure, or even steal the raw ones--which don't taste burnt--to eat surreptitiously. "Helen Bryan, you've been feeding Puppums all your marshmallows for the last ten minutes," accused Winnie, sitting up. She had been draping herself along a pile of cushions for the last fifteen minutes--thinking, evidently, for she had been quiet--a very unusual thing for chattering Winnie.…
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