“Who was it? Mrs. Ruby?”
“No, it was Uncle David,” and she gave a merry little laugh.
“Well, and how did you like him?”
“I think he is just charming. He is just like a piece of granite or oak or something of that sort, not smooth or shiny on the outside, but solid and sound to the very core. Oh! I shall love Uncle David.”
“That’s right. He is a good man,” said Ezra.
“And you know? he has made me understand about Perfection City. I shan’t want to laugh at it any more, and I don’t care if anybody else does. It was real brave of you showing your colours plain and sticking to them,” said Olive with a skip and a clap of her little hands.
CHAPTER III.
SISTER MARY WINKLE.
The very next morning just as she was washing her potatoes for dinner, another visitor called upon Olive, a visitor of whose sex she was for a moment or two in doubt. The visitor wore a large sunbonnet, a check blouse, and a pair of Zouave trowsers fastened in at the ankle.
“How do you do, Olive Weston?” said this person, in a deep serious voice. Olive, who had not seen her, started in surprise and dropped her potato into the basin.
“I am Mary Winkle. That’s my house over yonder.”