"And
Helen was so bright."
"Aren't you bright?" he asked, laughing.
"Mr. Holmes doesn't tell me that I am."
"What will your mother do?"
"Oh, dear," she sighed, "that is what I ask myself every day. But she
insists that I shall go, Linnet has had her 'chance' she says, and now it
is my turn. Miss Prudence is always finding somebody that needs a home,
and she has found a girl to help mother, a girl about my age, that hasn't
any friends, so it isn't the work that will trouble me; it is leaving
mother without any daughter at all."
"She is willing to let Linnet go, she ought to be as willing to let you."
"Oh, she is, and father is, too. I know I don't deserve such good times,
but I do want to go. I love Miss Prudence as much as I do mother, I
believe, and I am only forty miles from home. Mr. Holmes is about
leaving, too. How father will miss _him_! And Morris gone! Mother sighs
over the changes and then says changes must needs come if boys and girls
will grow up."
"Where is Mr. Holmes going?"
"To California. The doctor says he must go somewhere to cure his cough.
And he says he will rest and write another book. Have you read his book?"
"No, it is too dry for me."
"We don't think it is dry; Morris and I know it by heart."
"That is because you know the author."
"Perhaps it is. The book is everything but a story book. Miss Prudence
has a copy in Turkey morocco. Do you see many people that write books?"
"No," he said, smiling at her simplicity.
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