There were barns back of the Sherwood house; there was no fence
between the yard and the road, the windows of the house stared
out upon the passerby, blindless, and many of them without
shades. There was such a painful newness about the building that
it seemed to Nan the carpenters must have just packed their tools
and gone, while the painters had not yet arrived.
"Well! Here we are," announced Mr. Henry Sherwood, as Tom held
in the still eager ponies. He stepped out and offered Nan his
hand. "Home again, little girl. I reckon Kate will be mighty
glad to see you, that she will."
Nan leaped out and began to stamp her feet on the hard snow,
while Uncle Henry lifted out the trunk and bags. Just as the
ponies sprang away again, a door in the ugly house opened and a
tall, angular woman looked forth.
"Bring her in, Hen!" she cried, in a high-pitched voice. "I want
to see her."
Nan went rather timidly up the path. Her aunt was almost as tall
as her husband. She was very bony and was flat-chested and
unlovely in every way. That is, so it seemed, when the homesick
girl raised her eyes to Aunt Kate's face.
That face was as brown as sole-leather, and the texture of the
skin seemed leathery as well.
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