"What do you think of his sister, Star?" asked Edith.
"She is a fine young child; no more than sixteen, perhaps," responded Star, "and so lively that I wish I could be here with her all the time."
"I wonder if they will let us take her with us to the city, Star, to be our companion?" said Edith. "We would educate her, and teach her music and everything."
The kitchen door opened, and Anne came in with her mother, who wore a gingham apron as the badge of her position in the household. Anne advanced with her mother and presented her, with much dignity, as she conceived it, to Edith and Star.
"This is my mother, Edith and Star," said Anne, as the two young ladies arose and advanced to the middle of the room.
Edith presented her small white hand and took the coarse hand of Mrs. Winthrope. "I am so glad to know you, Mrs. Winthrope," said Edith, as she kissed the aging woman, whose age was more from toil than years. Star having performed the same act of greeting, including the osculatory part thereof, Mrs. Winthrope held up her hands in an astonished attitude, and said: "Well, well; I declare; and you two are John's friends, are you? I hope you are well."
"We are well; thank you," they both repeated.
"Just make yourselves at home, ladies, with what we have here to entertain you, while I finish the dinner. Be seated by the window where it is cool, for I know you must be warm after the long drive in the sun."
"Thank you, Mrs. Winthrope," they answered; and were seated.
Then the mother and daughter disappeared again; and Anne returned, after a little, with her father, who was in the clothes of a ploughman. Mr. Winthrope was a tall man, a little stooped, with chin whiskers, and gray blue eyes; and, while rough looking, was not boorish. Anne escorted him to the young ladies, who arose at his approach. He greeted them so warmly and effusively that, for some time thereafter, they felt the grip of his vise-like hand on theirs.