“But we believe he is not acting when he tells us he loves Jennie,” Aunt Kate said.
“Surely not!” cried Helen.
“He is the soul of honor,” Ruth declared. “I trust him as I do—well, Tom. I never had a brother.”
“I’ve always shared Tom with you,” pouted Helen.
“So you have, dear,” admitted Ruth. “But a girl who has had no really-truly brother really has missed something. Perhaps good, perhaps bad. But, at least, if you have brothers you understand men better.”
“Listen to the wisdom of the owl!” scoffed Helen. “Why, Tommy is only a girl turned inside out. A girl keeps all her best and softest attributes to the fore, while a boy thinks it is more manly to show a prickly surface—like the burr of a chestnut.”
“Listen to them!” exclaimed Aunt Kate, with laughter. “All the wise sayings of the ancient world must be crammed under those pretty caps you wear, along with your hair.”
“That is what we get at college,” said Helen seriously. “Dear old Ardmore! Ruth! won’t you be glad to get back to the grind again?”
“I—don’t—know,” said her chum slowly. “We have seen so much greater things than college. It’s going to be rather tame, isn’t it?”
But this conversation was all before they were distributed into their seats and had started. Colonel Marchand was an excellent driver, and he soon understood clearly the mechanism of the smaller car. Tom gave him the directions for the first few miles and they pulled out of the yard with Mr. Curtis, the station master, and his lame daughter, who now acted as telegraph operator, waving the party good-bye.