CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The new relationship established between Mrs. Benjamin and Isabelle was so precious to the little girl that she abandoned her banner of revolt once for all, and gave herself up to the congenial atmosphere of Hill Top. It was the only home she had ever known, since home is a matter of love and people rather than bricks and stones.
The secret correspondence was a complete outlet for Isabelle’s imagination, and she pored over the letters her “regular mother” wrote her with utter devotion. She put them away to keep for all her life. They were indeed wonderful letters, full of the fine idealism, the working philosophy that inspired the Benjamins. When there was some misdemeanour, or some fractured rule to be called to Isabelle’s attention, it was delicately introduced into the weekly letter, instead of being talked out in the library.
Excess vitality got the girl into scrapes sometimes, but as the Benjamins came to understand her better and to love her, they found ways of appealing to her common sense, or her instinct for justice, to which she never failed to respond. Her quick mind had already put her at the head of her classes.
The out-of-door life and her enjoyment of everything began to show in her whole bearing. Her face lost its sharp curves, she took on some flesh, her colour was high and her eyes were bright. At last she was coming into her birthright of happy, normal girlhood.
The letters home continued to be written to Wally, and once in a long while she had a brief note from him.
“What kind of a father have you got?” she inquired of Peggy, one day, after the perusal of one of these epistles.
“He is very nice, I think. He was sorry I wasn’t a boy, but he always gives me five dollars whenever he sees me. What kind is yours?”
“Wally is the nicest person in our family,” she said guardedly.
“Is your father handsome?”