Girls grown up were not quite so much like bits of china,
but he had no friend save one among womankind, his sister that was to
have been, Prudence Pomeroy. He had not addressed her with the name his
brother had given her since that last day in the garden; she was gravely
Prudence to him, in her plain attire, her smooth hair and little
unworldly ways, almost a veritable Puritan maiden.
As to her marrying--again (he always thought "again"), he had no more
thought of it than she had. He had given to her every letter he had
received from his brother, but they always avoided speaking his name;
indeed Prudence, in her young reverence for his age and wisdom, had
seldom named his Christian name to others or to himself, he was "Mr.
Holmes" to her.
John Holmes was her junior by three years, yet he had constituted himself
friend, brother, guardian, and sometimes, he told her, she treated him as
though he were her father, beside.
"It's good to have all in one," she once replied, "for I can have you all
with me at one time."
After being a year at Middlefield he had written to her about the
secluded homestead and fine salt bathing at the "Point," urging her to
spend her summer there. Marjorie had seen her face at church one day in
early spring as she had stopped over the Sabbath at the small hotel in
the town on her way on a journey farther north.
This afternoon, while Prudence had been under the apple-tree and in the
front entry, he had bent over the desk in his chamber, writing.
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