"No," said Brenda, shaking her head, "I did not exactly notice whom you were talking about."
"Why, Dr. Holmes," replied Julia.
"Oh," said Brenda, with a stare that seemed to imply that this name did not mean much to her.
"Why, you know, Brenda, Oliver Wendell Holmes?" prompted her mother, and still Brenda looked rather blank.
"Brenda," said Mrs. Barlow, "I am surprised. Surely you remember how pleased you were with 'The Last Leaf' when I had you learn it last summer, and you must remember that I told you that the poet who wrote it lives in Boston."
"I dare say," answered Brenda carelessly, "but I had forgotten. I don't see why Julia should be so excited about meeting a poet. There must be ever so many of them everywhere."
"Ah! Brenda," responded her mother, "I do wish that you would take more interest in the affairs of your own city. Here is Julia who has been in Boston but a short time, and I am sure that she knows more about our famous men and women than you who have lived here all your life."
For a wonder Brenda did not laugh at what her mother said, nor take offence.
"I never shall be a book-worm," she said very good-naturedly. "I am willing to leave all that to Julia."
So when Julia asked her one afternoon, if she would not like to go with her to call on Dr. Holmes, she declined with thanks, and left Julia free to invite Edith.