"Why, yes, we all do. He is like our own flesh and blood. But why did you ask?"
"Oh, nothing. I just thought of it."
"I thought you meant something, but you couldn't when you know how Hollis has been writing to her these four years."
"Oh!" ejaculated Hollis' mother.
She did not make plans for her children as the other mother did.
The two old ladies crossed the field toward the substantial white farmhouse that overlooked the little cottage, and the children, whose birthday it was, walked hand in hand through the yard to the footpath along the road.
"Must you keep on writing to Hollis?" he asked.
"I suppose so. Why not? It is my turn to write now."
"That's all nonsense."
"What is? Writing in one's turn?"