“Not till next October.”
“O——h!” now came, in one long wail of disappointment.
“Why, my darlings,” I said, “I want to rest here in this lovely country place, and laugh and frolic with you, and climb over ninety-nine fences, and eat apples, and drink milk, and hear the birds sing, and watch the dimples of sunlight peeping through the leaves of the trees, and feed the chickens, and ride on the top of a load of hay, with forty thousand grasshoppers in it, and sail or row on that beautiful little lake in front of us, and forget all about the hard brick and stone city, until the sweet summer is over.”
“We all got into the boat.”
“Oh! Will you do all that with us, dear Aunt Fanny? then we will wait as long as you like. When will you begin to climb the fences and row on the pond? Let’s have a row now.”
“With all my heart,” I said, and we jumped up and ran down to the water’s edge; at least the children ran, and I tried to, and we got into a beautiful little boat, and had such a nice row, with the cool soft wind blowing in our faces, and the air full of golden light. Oh! it did me more good than a thousand doses of Epsom salts.
The very minute we were on dry land again, Peter said, with a hop, skip, and jump, “Now, Aunt Fanny, when shall we begin to climb the fences?”
“At five o’clock this afternoon,” I answered, laughing, “we will all go out, for a nice long walk, and you shall hunt up the fences, and that little pug-nosed dog, with no tail to speak of, shall go with us.”