“Oh yes.”
“Shall I help you up?”
“No, sir, I’m a man. I’m fourteen.” Then he sprang to his feet and prepared to start.
“Good night, dearie.”
“Good night, sir.” And away went Barclay Stuart.
I think he ran home all the way at a kind of swinging trot.
“My dear Barclay,” said his mother, “we were feeling so uneasy about you.”
“Ah! but see what a string of fish I have. And they were all so hungry. And—so am I, mother. Oh, I’ve such a jolly queer adventure to tell you about. But I’m so hungry, I must keep it till after supper.”
Phœbe was a child of ten, with hazel eyes and long flowing locks of beautiful auburn hair.
She had had her supper long ago, but she must needs sit down opposite her brother to talk or prattle to him and see him eat. This little lass had a skin like alabaster, as auburn-haired girls nearly always have. But her cheeks were rosy, and so were her lips.