Miss Emily Marshall was at that moment sitting in her little back room , all alone in the dusk , with the rain splashing drearily against the windowpanes outside . Miss Marshall was feeling as lonely and dreary as she looked -- and as she had often felt in her life of sixty years . She told herself bitterly that she had n't a friend in the world -- not even one who cared enough for her to come and see her or write her a letter now and then . She thought her boarding-house acquaintances disliked her and she resented their dislike , without admitting to herself that her ungracious ways were responsible for it . She smiled sourly when little ripples of laughter came faintly down the hall from the front room where The Trio were writing their letters and laughing over the fun they were putting into them . `` If they were old and lonesome and friendless they would n't see much in life to laugh at , I guess , '' said Miss Marshall bitterly , drawing her shawl closer about her sharp shoulders . `` They never think of anything but themselves and if a day passes that they do n't have ` some fun ' they think it 's a fearful thing to put up with . I 'm sick and tired of their giggling and whispering . '' In the midst of these amiable reflections Miss Marshall heard a knock at her door . When she opened it there stood Nora Jane , her broad red face beaming with smiles . `` Please , Miss , here 's a letter for you , '' she said . `` A letter for me ! '' Miss Marshall shut her door and stared at the fat envelope in amazement . Who could have written it ? The postman came only in the morning . Was it some joke , perhaps ? Those giggling girls ? Miss Marshall 's face grew harder as she lighted her lamp and opened the letter suspiciously . `` Dear Miss Marshall , '' it ran in Cyrilla 's pretty girlish writing , `` we girls are so lonesome and dull that we have decided to write rainy-day letters to everybody in the house just to cheer ourselves up . So I 'm going to write to you just a letter of friendly nonsense . ''
Pages XXXXX `` nonsense '' followed , and very delightful nonsense it was , for Cyrilla possessed the happy gift of bright and easy letter-writing .
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