Janet’s hair was the most beautiful thing you ever saw; although if you heard anyone call it red, you might not think so till you saw that really there was no red about it. She wore it in long braids, and when it was combed out, it fell round her like a cloud of chestnut overlaid with gold; and her eyes were the very same color. “It isn’t healthy,” said Old Uncle. “That hair really ought to be cut.” But it never was cut.
Jack’s hair was short enough to make up for it, however, for it stood up like a stiff hair-brush above his honest little freckled face. Poor Jack, in those days, was usually to be seen going round with a string tied to one of his front teeth, which he was going to fasten to an open door and then slam the door, so that the tooth would come out quickly—just as soon as he could make up his mind to it.
The four children from the south had missed their own dear people exceedingly at first; Ally and Essie crying themselves to sleep in each other’s arms, and Janet getting up several times to see that they were covered, like a little mother herself, and Jack creeping into Will’s bed, because he had a lump in his throat, he said.
But the novelty of new surroundings had gradually worn away their sorrow and homesickness. Charlie and Will were very condescending and kind—they were Aunt Susan’s nephews, and had lived here ever since they became orphans—and Aunt Susan had said that where there was room for her people there was room for all of Old Uncle’s. Michael was delightful with fairy stories out of Ireland. Pincher told them of blood-curdling happenings in the woods. And the maids were very choice people. Aunt Susan always had sweeties and dainties for them. Uncle Billy was great fun when he chose.
It was only Old Uncle who was a drawback. For this sound disturbed Old Uncle’s nap, and that sound hindered Old Uncle’s work, and the other sound irritated Old Uncle’s nerves; and the children tiptoed and held their breath as they went past his office-door, and everybody hushed them down and hushed them down on account of Old Uncle, until Jack said one day, “They don’t really like children here at all!”
“It is very unfortunate to be children, anyway,” said Janet, with a sigh.
“Yes,” said Ally. “They always send you to bed if there’s anything going on; and they say it isn’t good for you if there’s anything nice to eat; and they send you out of the room if there are secrets, or else they spell or talk French or something.”
“They say, ‘Do-grey they-grey hear-grey,’” said Essie.
“And ‘Do-hoolty they-aylty hear-ealty,’” said Janet.