“You don’t realize how serious Roger can be when he feels that he has actual responsibility,” said Mrs. Morton, “and as for James Hancock, he is sometimes so grave that he almost alarms me.”
“He may be grave, but has he any sense?” asked Mr. Emerson tartly.
“The children seem to think he has a great deal. At any rate I feel sure that no difficulty is going to come to us with these three big boys on hand and I wouldn’t think of taking you on this fatiguing trip, on such a hot day,” insisted his daughter.
Mr. Emerson looked somewhat relieved although he again assured Mrs. Morton that he would be entirely willing to escort her and her flock.
“No farther than the Rosemont station, thank you,” she said, smiling.
It was at the station and just as the train was drawing in that Mr. Emerson handed Helen a notebook.
“You’ve taken me by surprise this morning,” he said, “and I haven’t had much time to get up my usual collection of historical poetry, but I couldn’t let you go off without having something of the kind to remember me by.”
Helen and the Ethels laughed at this confession, for Mr. Emerson was so fond of American history that he was in the habit, whenever they all went on trips together, of supplying himself with ballads concerning any historical happenings in the district through which they were to travel.
“Philadelphia ought to be a fertile field for you, sir,” said James Hancock.
“It is,” returned the old gentleman, “but you’ll escape the full force of my efforts this time, thanks to your quick start.”