“Mamma wants you, Persis,” she said. “We are going to have a small family conclave.” And Lisa’s eyes danced.
“What is it now? This family has a way of springing surprises on a body which is confusing, to say the least,” returned Persis, as she took her way down-stairs.
She and Lisa had long ago “made up.” Indeed, their little squabbles were of almost daily occurrence and did not prevent them from being really devoted to each other. Persis was the more generous of the two, although possessed of more real strength of character. Lisa yielded her opinions easily; her pleasures she grasped more closely. With Persis it was directly the opposite, she could give up a prospective treat, but her convictions were her own, and these she could not forego, unless convinced, under pressure, of their error, and even then it was difficult for her to confess it, although tacitly she generally did so.
“Now, mamma, what is it this time?” inquired Persis, as she dropped on a hassock near the window.
“It is just this. Papa must be in Washington for a few days on business, and wants me to go with him. He is also willing to take one of you girls, and the question is, Which shall it be?”
“‘Which shall it be? Which shall it be?
I looked at John, John looked at me,’”
quoted Persis. “Oh, mamma, that is a terrible strain upon unselfishness.” And she looked from one sister to the other.
“I’ve never been to Washington,” began Mellicent, “and I believe it would do me the most good.”
“I am the eldest, and I think it is my place,” came from Lisa.