There is the insurance money itself, too, but mother says
nothing but a very dreadful need must make us touch that. You
see there are four of us children, which with mother makes
five, and now there is Julia, which makes six. She is Uncle
Allan's only child. Uncle Allan has nervous prostration and
all of mother's money. We are not poor at all, just now, on
account of having exchanged the grand piano for an
old-fashioned square and eating up the extra money. It is great
fun, and whenever we have anything very good for supper
Kathleen says, "Here goes a piano leg!" and Gilbert says,
"Let's have an octave of white notes for Sunday supper,
mother!" I send you a little photograph of the family taken
together on your side piazza (we call it our piazza, and I hope
you don't mind). I am the tallest girl, with the curly hair.
Julia is sitting down in front, hemming. She said we should
look so idle if somebody didn't do something, but she never
really hems; and Kathleen is leaning over mother's shoulder.
We all wanted to lean over mother's shoulder, but Kitty got
there first. The big boy is Gilbert. He can't go to college
now, as father intended, and he is very sad and depressed; but
mother says he has a splendid chance to show what father's son
can do without any help but his own industry and pluck. Please
look carefully at the lady sitting in the chair, for it is our
mother.
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