Eleanor H. Porter

“ And I thought what a selfish brute I was to attempt to chain your bright spirit to sordid everyday living, just because I wanted you with me. And so I came to-day determined to make amends as best I could. And now I'm telling you. I take it back—all my pleading. You have my full and free consent to spread your wings and fly. You have not only that, but my loving sympathy and all my good wishes."
"You mean—?" Her eyes were incredulous.
"I mean, go on with your music. Make a name for yourself among the very greatest of earth." ”

“ She found only disappointment, dismay, and vexed anger in the faces before her.
"You don't mean we've got to go to that awful place to live, and have Cousin Abby, too, all alone, and not have you at all?" gasped May.
"Oh, come, Sis, that's too much to expect any fellow to stand!" exploded Gordon wrathfully.
"But there's the money—I'm going to earn the money. We need the money," urged Sister Sue. "You don't want to forget that."
"We're not forgetting Cousin Abby either," cut in Gordon. "We're not forgetting—" He stopped short, an odd look coming to his face. "Why, where does Kent come in? ”

“ Why does n't he come and do something for you, so you'll have more time?"
"Nonsense, Gordon! There's nothing he can do, I'm sure," protested Sister Sue, with a haste so precipitate that it looked suspiciously like an old argument already used to convince some one other than the indignant youth now before her. "He—he is trying to help the best way he knows, by staying away and not bothering us. He feels so sorry for us! He wrote a beautiful letter."
"Humph!" ejaculated Gordon again. "A lot he cares!"
"Oh, but he does care," interposed May, before her sister could speak. ”

“ Loring talks. He seems to think we 're lucky to have even Gilmoreville to go to."
"It's all so blamed sudden," fumed Gordon.
"To us—yes. But I don't think it was—to Father." Sister Sue's voice shook a little. "He's been worried and irritable and absent-minded for quite a while. You know he has."
"But I don't see how we're going to live at all," quavered May. "I don't see how we 're going to stand it!"
"But we've got to stand it," declared her sister. "We've just got to! And it may not be so bad, after all. Just think of the ideas for stories you may get there, May! ”

“ And in the end he won, if Sister Sue's eager face and shining eyes were any criterion—until a new thought came to the girl's mind.
"Oh, but, Martin, I forgot. I can't now," she despaired. "There's the money."
"Have n't you anything of your own?"
She shook her head sadly.
"Not a thing—except some Magda Silver Mine stock, which is n't worth a cent, Mr. Loring says. Father gave all us children ten thousand shares apiece ages ago. He's never given us money, only an allowance every month. Next year, when I am twenty-one, he was going to give me something. He always said he was. ”

“ The doctor says Father will be up and dressed in a week; and Mr. Loring says we'd better begin to break up as soon as possible after that."
"Tough luck!" ejaculated Gordon.
"I suppose we'll have to go into a snippy little house or flat on some mean little street, and we 'll be so ashamed when folks call," May pouted.
"Not a bit of it," contradicted Sister Sue, with a jauntiness that was a little forced. "They'll have to come a long way if they're going to call on us! We're going to Gilmoreville."
"That little country town?" Gordon's voice expressed unbelieving disgust. ”

“ There'll be the wedding—only it'll be a different wedding." She smiled a little wistfully, and her voice broke. "It won't be much of a rainbow wedding now, I guess, with pink and blue bridesmaids and flowers and music and a big church full of guests! I'll be lucky if—if I have a white muslin to get married in." ”

“ Besides, I want her. There's all the shopping and the dress-making, and I shall want some time to myself after I'm married; and—"
"Will you have the bridesmaids wear pink or blue?" interrupted May eagerly.
"Oh, you women!" cried Gordon disgustedly, with the blasé air of a man of forty. Then, appealingly to his father: "Dad, say something, can't you? We don't need Cousin Abby here, do we? Do we, Dad?" he repeated, as his father still continued to gaze abstractedly at the empty plate before him.
"Eh? What? Cousin Abby? Need her? How should I know?" he frowned irritably. "Ask your sister Sue. ”

“ And she would make big money when she should have become the great artiste. They always did. She was sure they did. And how she would love to add comforts and luxuries to the home, and make life easier for her father. ”

“ Of course, there's Father to be looked out for; but he'll be all right. Cousin Abby's coming soon, and the doctor says he'll be up and around the room in a few days, anyway. Besides, Cousin Abby's a wonderful nurse and housekeeper. She's very capable. I should n't worry a bit with Cousin Abby here—I mean there in Gilmoreville. ”