"There, there," and Priscilla disentangled herself from the arms of the children. "Martine, these are my little brothers and sister. There are only three of them—though they sound like a regiment. Children, this is my great friend, Martine Stratford."
The children looked up brightly, and held out their hands.
"We are very glad to see you," said Marcus, the elder boy.
"We hope you'll stay a long time," added George, the second.
Little Lucy was too shy to speak to the newcomer, but she held up her head, as if expecting the kiss that Martine promptly bestowed on her.
The resemblance between the three children was very striking, and they all looked like Priscilla, with their calm, blue eyes and blonde hair.
"Say, Priscilla," exclaimed Marcus, recovering from the awful moment of being introduced to a stranger. "Say, now, I can ride up with you, can't I?"
"It's my turn," interposed George. "'Tisn't fair for you to ride every time."
"Lucy can come with us," replied Priscilla. "There's no room for you boys."
"Let them all come with us," cried Martine. "We won't mind being crowded."