everything. For I know that you have a genuine interest in that kind of thing.”
“Miss South will be here next month.”
“That is true; and she would be an excellent person to go with you—if she can spare the time from Madame Du Launay. Brenda,”—and she touched her daughter lightly on the arm,—“I hope that you are going to cultivate an interest in history. I have spoken about it before, and you are old enough now to have an interest in that kind of thing.”
“I should like to have photographs of a lot of these old streets. They are too picturesque for anything,” responded Brenda.
“Photography for you may thus become a stepping-stone to higher things. And I won’t begrudge the money wasted—I beg your pardon—spent on films,” said Mr. Barlow, in the tone which Brenda called “making fun.”
From Crowthers’, where they stopped to have Mrs. Barlow’s prescription put up, and buy Brenda’s film, it was not far to Tucker’s wharf.
“We are to walk the rest of the way,” said Mr. Barlow, as the girls came out of the shop. “It would be hard to get the carriage down to the wharf, and I doubt that we could find a place to turn. At any rate, it is better for us not to make the attempt. Thomas is to put up the horses at a stable, and have the rest of the day to himself.”
Except for the popping of firecrackers and torpedoes here and there, the old town seemed rather quiet, and it
