Alice is a little over sixteen,--just one year older than I am,--and she
has travelled almost everywhere with her parents (she's the only child,
you see), all over America and in Europe. But she doesn't put on any
airs about it; in fact, instead of talking of her travels, as I would
ask her to do, she'd beg, actually coax me to tell her about my brothers
and sisters, and the times we have at home,--it seems Hilliard has
written her about us. She said she had never known such a large family,
and she wanted me to describe each one, from Phil down to Alan.
On warm mornings we would sit on the beach in the shade of the rocks,
and when Hilliard wasn't reading to us, somehow the conversation always
got round to the family. Hilliard thinks a good deal of our boys, and he
talked to Alice about them; he told her of our entertainment on Nora's
birthday, and our "performances," and she seemed to enjoy hearing of it
all. She asked questions, too, and said she felt as if she really knew
us all.
Mrs. Endicott was almost as nice as Alice, and so _kind_! Why, almost
every day she got up some amusement for us,--driving, or walking, or a
picnic, or something.
Pages:
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293