A Visit from Two Children.
They were some six and seven years old, and a most reserved and old-fashioned little couple in their ways. The elder, Reggie, was singularly quiet and thoughtful. His face, of considerable beauty of feature, with large grey eyes, wore ordinarily an expression of solemnity, if not of melancholy, and it required an intimacy of some considerable standing to obtain more than monosyllabic replies in his high but very gentle voice.
His companion was a little sister properly called Marjorie, but who had hardly yet outgrown “Baby.” Such an upright, delicate dimpled, flower of a child, with the same big eyes and curling lashes as her brother, but with a reserve far more easily overcome, and a much greater readiness to break into smiles or even indulge in romps. She completely “mothered” Reggie, and her anxiety that he should do the right thing, and her little quick orders to him, were most amusing.
Their hostess met them a few days before their visit, and their excitement about it all was intense.
“What luggage shall you bring?”
“Oh! just a hat-box or two!”
“It’s all arranged about our visit to you. I do so love arranging things. Couldn’t we have some more arrangements?”
This, of course, Baby. So every conceivable thing was “arranged,” and every minute of the two days planned out. Their hostess told them she should expect them to bring lots of things in their luggage.
“Oh!” said Baby, “I shall bring my tea-gown. And what shall you wear?”
The day arrived, and they were met at the station.