BRENDA’S SUMMER AT ROCKLEY
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“There’s the train, Julia,” interrupted Brenda; “don’t forget to write,” she added, a she said good-bye.
“No, indeed, I ’ll write first,” replied Julia, as the train pulled up.
Now, as letters from one school-girl to another often touch on things that an older person might not think worth mentioning, two of the letters of the cousins may give the best possible idea of their visits.
“Dear Brenda,”—
(for it was Julia, as might have been expected, who wrote first.)
Dear Brenda,—I am afraid that you will think this a very stupid letter, for really nothing has happened since I came here, except the little commonplace things that happen on a farm. I miss the ocean, and I shall be very glad to see it again. Eliza is as happy as can be. She is the head of a household, and she makes the most of it. Her little nieces and nephews are made to “toe the mark,” as she calls it, in a way that is truly wonderful. I have been held before them, it seems, as a model, ever since their aunt took charge of them. In consequence, it was two or three days before I could get them to say a word to me. The youngest merely stared at me every minute with her finger in her mouth, and the elder boy and girl stared, and said, “yes, ma’am,” and “no, ma’am,” when I spoke to them. They have gradually improved, and yesterday they asked if they might name the new calf for me. Eliza had told them that it would not be respectful unless I gave my consent, and when they found that I was willing, they were perfectly delighted. You may laugh when I tell you that I shed a few tears at poor Prince’s grave. They have made a regular mound above it, and have
