"Of course, I don't mind," responded Priscilla. "I was thinking of you."
The carriage into which the children climbed was an old-fashioned carryall, the driver an elderly man, who addressed Priscilla without formality.
"What did Aunt Sarah send me?" persisted George, as they drove along.
"But, my dear, it isn't long since you had your Christmas presents," protested Priscilla.
"You never come home without bringing something."
"Wait and see," said Priscilla, squeezing Lucy. "It seems as if I hadn't seen a child for a year."
"You were here Christmas; you didn't go away until New Year's," said the literal Marcus.
"I mean that I haven't had a chance to talk to a child, not to mention squeezing one," responded the smiling Priscilla.
"Aren't there any little girls in Boston?" asked Lucy, timidly. "Haven't your friends any sisters and brothers?"
"Martine hasn't, and she's my best friend."