"I'll wait for you," laughed Allen. "You're the funniest little kid I've met in a long time."
"I don't have to decide until I'm twenty," said Jeanne, cautiously. "I might find a more stay-away husband than that."
The next morning the postman brought a letter from Jeanne's father. As usual, Harold, who had rudely snatched the mail from James, held Jeanne's letter behind him with one hand and held his nose with the other.
"What's the matter?" asked Allen.
"Fish," returned Harold, pretending to be very ill. "Her father's a fishman, you know. You can smell his letters coming while they're still on the train."
Allen glanced at Jeannette. She was red with embarrassment and very close to tears.
"You young cub," said he, "I've heard all about Jeanne's father from my grandmother. I don't know what he's doing now, but the Duvals were a splendid old French family even if they were poor. 'Way back, they were Huguenots—perhaps you've had those in school. Anyway, they were fine people. And Jeannette's father was well educated and a gentleman. It isn't a bit worse to sell fish than it is to sit all day in a bank. I'd rather sell fish, myself.... Particularly, if I could do the catching."
"You'd better not let mother hear you," said Clara, primly. "We aren't allowed to say anything about Jeannette's people."
"I'm sure we don't want to," said Pearl, virtuously.
"Well," returned Allen, "my grandmother says that the Duvals began being an old family long before the Huntingtons did—that's all I know about it; but my grandmother never tells fibs, and she knew the Duvals. The rest of us don't. Hurry up and read your letter, Jeannette. We're all going to the park to feed the animals—which one shall we feed you to?"