Excerptthe cuckoo is the most careless bird in the world about the way it builds its nest. They weave a few twigs and sticks togethah just in any kind of way, and nevah mind a bit if their poah little young ones fall out of the nest. They seem to think that any kind of home is good enough, and that is the kind of a home that Elizabeth Lewis has. She is a poah little orphan, and is livin’ on a farm up Green Rivah. Mother is her godmothah. That’s why she is named Elizabeth Lloyd. Mrs. Lewis was an old school friend of mothah’s, too, and she wants Joyce and Elizabeth and me to be as deah friends as she and Emily Ware and Joyce Lewis were, she says. That’s why she invited them. And you don’t know anything about this one? questioned Rob. Not a thing. I shouldn’t be su'prised if she’s mighty countrified, for the farm is several miles from a railroad, and the people she lives with don’t think of anything but work, yeah in and yeah out. They had reached the post-office by this time, and Rob held out his hand