While the others were laughing and talking over their sticks of taffy, Basil was turning over in his mind the advisability of trying to win Mrs. Estabrook’s approval of bicycle riding for girls. This amusement was at that time in the early stage of its popularity, and was looked upon with discredit by many persons. Basil’s attentive, thoughtful ways evidently produced a good impression upon grandma, and she talked cheerily to him of his coming work, of his life at home, and such topics as she thought might interest him.
“I hope you are not going to be homesick,” she said.
“I don’t believe we shall be,” answered Basil, cordially. “You’re all so awfully jolly,—I mean so nice and homelike,—and you know Port and I never had sisters, so we’ll learn a lot about girls, I expect.”
Grandma smiled at the naïve speech. “Have you no girl cousins?” she asked.
“Yes, we have one who lives near us. She’s awfully nice, too; and when we go out on our bikes very often she goes along.”
“Oh, she rides a bicycle!” And Basil saw disapproval of this “nice” cousin written on Mrs. Estabrook’s face.
“She’s such a real good girl. She’s the rector’s daughter, you know,” he hastened to say.
“What! Dr. Allison’s daughter? He is your rector, I have heard your mother say.”
“So he is, and he’s one of the finest fellows you ever saw.”
“Yes, that is what I have always been told,” assented Mrs. Estabrook, “and therefore I can hardly reconcile my idea of his good judgment to the fact of his daughter’s riding a bicycle.”