"A delightful, warm, kind, friendly letter," said Mother Carey, folding
it with a caressing hand. "I wish your father could have read it."
"He doesn't say a word about his children," and Nancy took the sheets
and scanned them again.
"You evidently gave him the history of your whole family, but he
confines himself to his own life."
"He mentions 'my son Tom' frequently enough, but there's not a word of
Mrs. Hamilton."
"No, but there's no reason there should be, especially!"
"If he loved her he couldn't keep her out," said Nancy shrewdly. "She
just isn't in the story at all. Could any of us write a chronicle of any
house we ever lived in, and leave you out?"
Mrs. Carey took Nancy's outstretched hands and was pulled up from the
greensward. "You have a few 'instinks' yourself, little daughter," she
said with a swift pat on the rosy cheek. "Now, Peter, put your marbles
in the pocket of your blue jeans, and take the milk pail from under the
bushes; we must hurry or there'll be no chowder."
As they neared Garden Fore-and-Aft the group of children rushed out to
meet them, Kitty in advance.
"The fish man didn't come," she said, "and it's long past his time, so
there's no hope; but Julia and I have the dinner all planned. There
wasn't enough of it to go round anyway, so we've asked Olive and Cyril
to stay, and we've set the table under the great maple,--do you care?"
"Not a bit; we'll have a real jollification, because Nancy has some good
news to tell you!"
"The dinner isn't quite appropriate for a jollification," Kitty observed
anxiously.
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