“I wish I could coax him to start in again, right now, and take me with him,” Kit exclaimed, blithely. “Anyhow, I’m going to hope that it will come right and I can go. Can I borrow your trunk Jean? Just write a charming letter, Dad, sort of in the abstract, thanking him and calling us ‘the children’ so he can’t detect just what we are, then when I depart, you can wire them, ‘Kit arrives such and such a time.’ They’ll probably expect a Christopher, and once I land there, and they realize the treasure you have sent them, they will forgive me anything.”
Uncle Bart’s letter was read over again carefully by Mrs. Craig. Kit carried it out to the grape arbor where she was shelling peas for dinner.
“Just read that letter over, Mom, very, very carefully, and see if there isn’t some way you can smuggle me out to Delphi, without hurting Uncle Bart’s feelings.”
Mrs. Craig took the letter and together they read it again—
My dear Thomas:
I trust both you and Margaret are enjoying good health, and that this finds you both facing a more prosperous time than when I heard last from you.
It has occurred to both Della and myself that we may be able to relieve you of part of your responsibility and care, at least for a short time. If the experiment should prove advantageous to all concerned we might be able to arrange a longer stay. One suggestion, however, I feel privileged to make. We would prefer that you would send the boy, as you know this is a college town, and I am sure it would broaden his views to come west, even for a short time. I need hardly add that we will do all in our power to make his stay a pleasant and profitable one.
Another point to consider is this. I would like to interest him in a few of my little hobbies, archaeology, geology, etc. I have delved deeply into the mysteries of the past, and feel I should pass on what I have learned as a heritage to youth.
Trusting that you and Margaret will be able to coincide with our views in the matter, I remain,
Yours faithfully,
Barton C. Peabody.
“You know, Mom,” here Kit slipped her arm persuasively around her mother’s shoulder, “you’ve always said yourself that I was more like a boy. And Buzzy says I’m an awfully good pal, and he’d much rather talk to me than any of the boys around here because I understand what he’s driving at.”
“I don’t think it would matter, if you only visited them for a couple of months, but supposing Uncle Bart took a fancy to you.” Mrs. Craig’s eyes twinkled as she watched Kit’s grave face.
“You mean,” she said, “supposing he decided that my brain measured up to his expectation and they wanted me to stay all winter? Couldn’t I go to school there, just as well as here? You ought to realize, Mom, that I’m really not a child any longer. I’m sixteen.”
“Reaching years of discretion, aren’t you,” smiled her mother. “I suppose it would do you a lot of good in a broadening way to go through a new experience like this.”
“I’m not thinking about that.” Kit sent back an understanding gleam of fun, “but I’m perfectly positive that it would do Uncle Bart and Aunt Della an awful lot of good.”