“I don't see any cloud,” said Zeke, staring about.
“Why, right there in front of us,” excitedly, pointing at the long opaque mass against the sky.
“That? Why, that's hills.” Zeke laughed. “The mountain they call it here. Pretty sickly mountain we'd think it was up Berkshire way.”
“Oh, it's a mountain, Anna Belle,” joyfully, “we're really seeing a mountain!”
“No you ain't,” remarked Zeke emphatically. “Not by a large majority. Guess Chicago's some flat, ain't it?”
“We don't have hills, no. So now we're going to see grandpa's park, and the ravine, and the brook, and—and everything!”
Zeke stole a furtive look at the owner of the joyous voice. The voluminous ribbon bows behind her ears were mostly in evidence, as she bent her face over her doll in congratulation.
“Left Mr. Evringham in town, did you?” he asked.
“Yes, he was busy, and in a hurry to get to his office. Grandpa's such an important man.”
“Is he?” asked Zeke.