"I think it is hard to tell why you like people." Bess twisted her handkerchief meditatively. "She isn't exactly pretty, but she is pleasant and polite—"
"Yes, and she is ready to do anything, and doesn't think about her clothes," Carl interposed.
"Boys think about their clothes as well as girls," said Louise. "I know lots of girls who don't think about their clothes."
"So do I—some who have no regard whatever for them," said Aunt Zélie, laughing.
"Do you know I like the description they give of Dora," remarked Mr. William Hazeltine, after the children had left the room.
"I never knew Carl to be so warm in the praise of a new acquaintance," said his brother. "You will have to let them go to see her, Zélie."
"Pray, do not be rash; find out who they are first," begged Mrs. Hazeltine.
"I can't help thinking," said her husband, "that this little girl may be the daughter of my old friend Dick Warner; you remember him, Frank? He died about a year ago, somewhere abroad. As bright and sweet-tempered a fellow as ever lived! I must look into it."
Uncle William usually had his own way about things, for the reason that no other way was so pleasant. No one could resist his bright face and cordial manner. He carried around with him an atmosphere of such hearty goodwill that it was next to impossible to be cross or gloomy in his presence. People sometimes wondered how he happened to marry Mrs. Hazeltine, but the reason was plain enough to him. He regarded her with the greatest admiration, feeling that a harum-scarum fellow like himself was most fortunate in having such a wife to keep him straight. He was very proud and fond of her, and quite blind to what others called her managing propensities. Sometimes, indeed, he wondered how she could be so severe in her judgment of the children, but then someone must be firm. And though she was often annoyed by his friendliness with all sorts of odd people, and wished William would draw the line somewhere, she always ended by saying leniently that he would never be anything but a boy.
He had a warm love for children. No matter how ragged and forlorn they might be, they interested him. The newsboys and bootblacks felt that he was their friend, and many were the treats they received at his hand. By his young relatives and their many friends he was looked upon as a sort of every-day Santa Claus. One of his peculiarities was a love for surprising people. He sent mysterious parcels, left candy about in unexpected places, or took the children out for a walk, and then whisked them off on some delightful excursion.