"I have to live in town nine months of the year, you see. Uncle, on account of my work," she explained rather apologetically.
"Hallie's an official—and awfully proud of it," her brother whispered very loudly.
"Jerrold's only a musician—and pretends to be proud of it!" she retorted. Whereat he forcibly held and kissed her.
I could see no very strong difference between this brother and sister and others I had known—except that they were perhaps unusually affectionate.
It was a big, handsome place. The front windows faced the great river, the rear ones opened on a most unexpected scene of loveliness. A big sheltered garden, every wall-space surrounding it a joy to the eye—rich masses of climbing vines, a few trees, a quiet fountain, beautiful stone seats and winding walks, flowers in profusion, and birds singing.
"We used to have only the song of the tomcat in my time. Have you taught the cat to lie down with the canary—or killed him?"
"There are no animals kept in cities any more—except the birds—and they come and go."
"Mostly sparrows, I suppose?"
"No; the sparrow went with the horse," Owen replied. "And the mouse, the fly and the croton bug went with the kitchen."
I turned with a gesture of despair.