“Yes, and so have I.”
“You don’t mean you have stolen a bird?”
Caro laughed. “Of course not; I wouldn’t steal, but Marjorie and Tom and I jumped all the feathers out of Aunt Charlotte’s bed.”
“What naughty children,” said Walter smiling.
“Yes,” agreed Caro with a sigh, “and I meant to be good while grandpa was away. I promised him I’d try to be a candle and then I forgot.”
“What do you mean by being a candle?”
“Oh—being pleasant and nice to Aunt Charlotte and Jane,—not making trouble you know. The feathers were all over the front lawn and Mrs. Rice thought it was snowing.” Caro laughed a little at the recollection.
“Grandpa said the best way to be a candle was to love people, and I do love him ever so much, but I don’t love Jane. I love Aunt Charlotte too, but she doesn’t like to talk to me, so I miss grandpa.”
“I know how that is. I too wish sometimes for someone to talk to,” Walter replied.
Here Thompson appeared with the photographs, and everything else was forgotten.