“I suppose we’ll get acquainted with them as soon as they begin going to school,” mused Faith. “I hope the girls are nice. I don’t like most of the girls round here. Even the nice ones are poky. But the Blythe twins look jolly. I thought twins always looked alike, but they don’t. I think the red-haired one is the nicest.”
“I liked their mother’s looks,” said Una with a little sigh. Una envied all children their mothers. She had been only six when her mother died, but she had some very precious memories, treasured in her soul like jewels, of twilight cuddlings and morning frolics, of loving eyes, a tender voice, and the sweetest, gayest laugh.
“They say she isn’t like other people,” said Jerry.
“Mrs. Elliot says that is because she never really grew up,” said Faith.
“She’s taller than Mrs. Elliott.”
“Yes, yes, but it is inside—Mrs. Elliot says Mrs. Blythe just stayed a little girl inside.”
“What do I smell?” interrupted Carl, sniffing.
They all smelled it now. A most delectable odour came floating up on the still evening air from the direction of the little woodsy dell below the manse hill.
“That makes me hungry,” said Jerry.
“We had only bread and molasses for supper and cold ditto for dinner,” said Una plaintively.