“Why, don’t you think it’s good for girls? I wish you could see the difference it has made in Mabel Allison. She used to be so delicate. She had dyspepsia and all sorts of things, and now she looks like another girl. Say, Mrs. Estabrook, don’t you think it would be nice for Persis?”
“I don’t think Persis needs it.”
“But it would be fun for her. You would not mind our teaching her, would you? It wouldn’t do any harm for her to know how.”
“No, I suppose not. I know she is very anxious to learn; but I should dislike very much to see her in public mounted on a wheel.”
“Oh, well, we won’t let any one see her. We’ll go into the side street, and you can watch us from your window.”
Mrs. Estabrook did not reply, and Basil, taking silence for consent, went over to Persis and told her with great satisfaction that she was to learn to ride as soon as the boys’ wheels should come.
The part of the city where the Holmes family lived was quite suburban, although only fifteen minutes’ ride by trolley to the heart of the city and within a short distance of the university where Mr. Holmes held a professorship. Theirs was a corner house, and the quiet street which ran along the side of the garden was at times in the day almost deserted, and it was here that the boys intended to initiate Persis into the mysteries of bicycle riding.
A more excited girl than Persis was over the prospect could scarcely be found. “When once grandma sees how I can ride she’ll not say a word against it,” she confided to Lisa. “Then you’ll learn, and we’ll all go out together. Won’t it be fine? I’m so glad Basil and Porter have come.”
“You sang another song this morning,” returned Lisa.
This was after the taffy had been pulled till it was a delicate straw-color, and the young people, having eaten all they could manage, had said their good-nights with much complacency, feeling that the evening had furnished them with all the amusement they could have expected.