"I know which is hers, the thin paper and the writing that runs along."
"And the other is from Uncle John."
"To me?" she queried.
"No, this is mine, but I will read it to you. First I want to tell you about Aunt Prue's home."
"Is it like this? near the sea? and can I play on the beach and see the lions?"
"It is near the sea, but it is not like this; her home is in a city by the sea. The house is a large house. It was painted dark brown, years ago, with red about the window frames, and the yard in front was full of flowers that Aunt Prue had the care of, and the yard at the back was deep and wide with maples in it and a swing that she used to love to swing in; she was almost like a little girl then herself."
"She isn't like a little girl now, is she?"
"No, she is grown up like that lady on the beach with the children; but she describes herself to you and promises to send her picture!"
"Oh, good!" exclaimed the child, dancing around the chair, and coming back to stand quietly at her father's side.
"What is the house like inside? Like this house?"