Six Girls: A Home Story

From Aunt Tremayne and Ralph
Six Girls A HOME STORY BY FANNIE BELLE IRVING ILLUSTRATED BY F. T. MERRILL
There were ripples of sunshine all tangled in the glowing scarlet of the geranium bed and dancing blithely over the grass. A world of melody in quivering bursts of happy song came from the spreading canopy of leaves overhead, and as an accompaniment, the wind laughed and whispered and kept the air in one continual smile with a kiss on its lips, born of supreme contentment in the summer loveliness.
In the cool, deep shade, cast by the grandest of old beech trees, a girl sat, her white dress in freshest relief against the green surroundings, a piece of sewing in her nimble fingers, and the wind tossing her loosened hair all about her face and shoulders. She was quite alone, and seemed just the setting for the quiet, lovely surroundings, so much so, that, had an artist chanced to catch the sight, he would have lost no time in transferring it to canvas,—the wide stretch of grass, alternately steeped in cool shadows and mellow sunshine, the branching, rustling canopy of leaves, the white-robed figure with smiling lips and busy fingers, and just visible in the back-ground an old house wrapped in vines and lying in the shade.
Somebody came from among the trees just at this moment and crossed the grass with a peculiarly graceful and swaying step, as though she had just drifted down with the sunshine and was being idly blown along by the wind, another girl in the palest of pink dresses, with ripples of snowy lace all over it, and a wide-brimmed hat shading her eyes. And speaking distance being gained, she said, with a breezy little laugh: Sewing? Why, it's too warm to breathe.
That's the reason I sew, returned the other, with a nod of energy. I should suffocate if I just sat still and thought how warm it is. Where have you been?
Down to the pond, skipping stones, and wishing that I could go in, answered the new-comer, sitting down on the grass with a careful and gracefully effective arrangement of her flounces and lace. I don't see why papa won't let us take the boat; it did look too tempting. Suppose we go and do it, anyhow, Bea, and just let him see that we can manage it without being taught. The pond is all in the shade now, and a row would be delicious.