Douglas Amanda M.
A Modern Cinderella

CHAPTER XIII
A NEW ATMOSPHERE

They came back to the sleepy grate fire. Miss Armitage said – “You must go to bed for you will have to be up early in the morning.”

“I shall only stay a little while,” as if she had been musing over her journey. “Fairy godmother why don’t you come, too?”

“Well, you see I was not asked, I am outside of all this business.”

The voice was on the verge of a touch of bitterness, though nature and endeavor had made it sweet.

“Why, that’s funny. They did not know how much I should want you. I’ll ask the doctor in the morning. Oh, I wonder if I shall like those little cousins?”

“No, dear, you must not speak of it. There is nothing for me to do. Sometime we will go to the city together and have a nice outing.”

“Are you glad the doctor is going to be my guardian, and – about the fortune?”

“You couldn’t have a better one.”

“Can’t women be guardians? But I’d rather have you for a fairy godmother. No one else in the whole wide world could be that, you know. For the one in the dream wasn’t truly alive. I don’t believe she could have taken care of a sick body. Oh you are so sweet! I love you! love you!”

Would the child always love her? She was coming to the crucial years. She was very fond and sincere now, but she had cause to be grateful. She knew so little of the world, she had a winsome charm that was unfolding every day, she would be attractive to others. Jane was her fervent admirer, Bridget adored her, the babies capered around when they saw her in a species of Indian dance.

Yes, she would win love, she would not be dependent on her alone. Would there come a time when she would flit from the wing of fairy godmother and find her only an ordinary friend?

There seemed a sudden dreariness in the world like a bright day clouding over. It ought not look so to a woman of five and thirty with health and prosperity and plenty of work that did interest her. Other orphan girls might appeal to her to make their lonely lives blossom with hope and happiness.

Yes, she must let her go with earnest wishes for her future. She would rejoice in whatever came to her and not ask all the fragrance of the sweet young soul. So she kissed Marilla a tender good-night.

There were tears in the child’s eyes when she started on her journey. Mr. Lorimer met them at the station with a beautiful box of chocolates, and there was a pile of illustrated papers. She had so little idea of money that even now it was not to be weighed in the balance with fairy godmother.

They passed through pretty towns but autumn had stripped the gardens of their beauty. Even the clumps of evergreens on the lawns looked lonesome. She had never gone through a gloomy tunnel before and was a little frightened. Emerging from it the great city filled her with wonder.

Then they took a hack. Oh, how full of everything the streets were, pedestrians dodging this way and that, vehicles in a snarl and trolleys whizzing by. It was a miracle people did not get run over.

They reached their destination and Lorimer ushered them in a sort of ante room, taking her to a lady who rose to greet them.

“And so this is cousin Marion’s little girl who has been motherless for years! We heard you were dead. If I had known you were living I should have come for you. We were very dear to each other but on her marriage she went away. I can’t see that you resemble her much except that she was fair and had light curly hair, and how she did hate it!” laughed Mrs. Warren.

“I like it,” rejoined Marilla.

“And she used to soap it and brush it and would never let it really curl; but it was a bed of waves. Oh, child! I’m glad to see you. I was very fond of your mother, and though our fortunes are not very large I suppose we can be thankful for them. It was a great surprise to me. You’re hardly old enough to realize all its benefits.”

Lorimer went to see when their turn would come. Mrs. Warren and the doctor talked about Marilla. Then they were summoned to a crowded room where men were signing papers and there was such a hum of talking it was like a swarm of bees.

Marilla held tightly to Mrs. Warren’s hand. Dr. Richards was answering questions and a man seemed to verify them from books and papers. They had a corner to themselves. Then Marilla was questioned about the Home and her being bound-out and she had to declare she was the same little girl, that her mother and father were dead, that she had always lived at Newton.

Then some papers were signed and she was taken in a small room which was filled with tall cases and a great business desk where sat a sharp-eyed man. He wheeled around so suddenly that she started.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said. “Is Dr. Richards a relative? Do you live with him?”

“No, but he had been so good to her when Miss Armitage had taken her in so she need not go to the hospital. She had been bound-out but the family could not take care of her. Some one had just died.”

“Would she like Dr. Richards for her guardian? Had any one told her she must have him?”

“Oh, I want him, I love him,” and the flood of eager joy in her sweet face answered him as truly as the words.

He was curiously interested and drew her out a little further, charmed with her simplicity.

Then Doctor Richards had to sign the bond and they were dismissed. Mrs. Warren would take her home, and her guardian would come in the afternoon and take dinner with them and meet Mr. Warren.

There were two trolley rides, then a walk from the corner. The house was in a brick row up on the East side with a little park opposite, and the river only a block away.

The basement windows had tall iron bars that suggested a prison to the child. They ascended the high stoop and the hall door was flung open while a chorus of eager voices cried —

“Oh, is this the new cousin?”

“Yes, Marilla Bond. This is Edith, this is May and this is our baby Jessie – ”

“We were afraid you wouldn’t get here in time. We had begun our lunch – ”

“Run back dears, we will be down in a minute.”

They kissed Marilla with sweet heartiness that won her at once. Mrs. Warren took off her wrap and hat and they went down. How strange it was to have these girls smiling and expressing delight.

“You’re going to keep her, mother?” declared Edith.

“Oh yes, as long as her guardian will let her stay. You will find her here when you come back.”

“And wasn’t it funny to have a fortune drop down on you? Mother could hardly believe it at first, and then we were so glad to find you.”

Marilla glanced up with a smile, but she wanted to cry for very joy.

Then they kissed her again and ran off to school.

“Were there any children where you lived?”

“Not at Miss Armitage’s. That was where I was ill. She took me in, but I had to go back to Mrs. Borden’s when I was strong enough. And then an old lady died and I fainted again and the doctor said it was something with the heart, and they had to take a bigger girl. Then I went to Miss Armitage again. She is so dear and sweet. I want to stay there always.”

“You poor child! You see we were in Western New York when your mother died and we didn’t hear of it in a long while. We should not have let you go to that Home. Were they good to you?”

“Well, you see some of the children were not very good, and they only gave you so much to eat. Sometimes you felt real hungry. I tried to be good for I didn’t like to be punished,” she said naively. “You had to scrub floors and learn psalms, when you didn’t get whipped. I liked the hymns, only they were not always sweet and pretty, and we went in school at nine and had one little recess. Then after dinner, and school until four, and if you missed you had to stay in. You sewed half an hour then and could play out of doors until six, then you had supper and went to bed.”

“What kind of sewing was it?”

“Oh, you hemmed towels and sheets and pillow cases, and mended. The little girls couldn’t, so you had to look after their things, and darn their stockings. On Saturday afternoon one of the teachers took you out walking but it was in the woods and the country. All the girls were so glad when they were twelve or almost, so they could get away. Mrs. Johnson was very sharp.”

“And the lady you went to live with?”

“Oh she was very nice; and her sister. There was a boy of five and twin babies – ”

“You didn’t have to take care of the babies?”

“Only to play with them and amuse them. They were very fat and Mrs. Borden didn’t like me to lift them. Then I used to wheel them in their carriage. I liked that only when it was very cold – or hot. The stores were so pretty, and you met other girls. I used to read the books in the windows; Jack had lots of books. I used to show the pictures to the babies and tell them stories and they would laugh so, just as if they understood it all. They were very good and merry, but it was a long while before they could walk, they were so fat.”

“How did she come to let you go?”

“It was one very hot day – and somehow I was so dreadfully tired all the time, I sat down on a stoop – it was a beautiful, shady street with great trees, and most everybody had gone away. The babies were not very well and a little cross. You had to be doing things all the while, and – I don’t know what happened, but I fell off the stoop and some one picked me up and then Miss Armitage who lived opposite came over and had me taken to her house and for a long while I just seemed in the dark and didn’t know anything. It was then that Dr. Richards came. They were all so good, and it was like being in heaven. The Bordens had gone to Long Island and the babies were very sick getting some teeth, and they wanted me, I was bound, you know, so I had to go as soon as I was well enough. Part of it was very nice; the babies could walk then. After we came back” – she made a little pause for she had not even told Dr. Richards Jack’s part in the mishap – “I fainted one day. Their old aunt was ill and she wanted me, so I went and – it was dreadful – she died and I fainted again. Then Miss Armitage came and took me home with her. Mrs. Borden took a new nursemaid, a grown up woman and was willing to let me go, and these other things happened. Oh, I want to stay always with Miss Armitage.”

“You poor little girl! I think you have had a rather hard time. What does Dr. Richards say?”

“The other doctor said I had a weak heart. Does that make you faint away? It’s almost like dying – you don’t seem to know anything for a long while, and it is very hard to get back.”

“You have been worked pretty hard I guess.” How simply the child had told her story. “But now life will be better. I am very glad this little fortune has come to you, and now I am going up stairs a few moments, and you may look over the books on the table. I will soon be back.”

Instead Marilla looked about the room. The front one was the parlor, very nicely furnished. The back one shut off the end of the hall. There were three French windows reaching to the floor, the last one being a door leading out to an enclosed porch with windows that would be very pleasant in summer. There was only a small yard with a tiny grass plot and an alleyway running through at the back.

There was a big book case in one recess, a lounge, a Morris chair and a substantial center table containing books and papers. It had a home-like, well used look, with several cosy rocking chairs.

Mrs. Warren returned with some sewing and without evincing undue curiosity led Marilla to talk of her past, though the child really knew very little about her mother and seemed to have no tender or regretful regard for this Mrs. Jaques. But her whole heart went out to Miss Armitage in something like worship.

The girls came home and in a short time they were all friends. It seemed odd to them that Marilla had never been to a real school. Jessie was in the kindergarten, but would enter the primary in February. May was there and Edith hoped to get in the High School another year. Then they carried her off to their play room. This was the hall bedroom on the next floor. There was a small book case, a sort of closet with glass doors where playthings were kept and one shelf devoted to dolls. Marilla stood entranced before it.

“Have you many dolls?” asked May.

“I never had a doll since my mama died,” and there were tears in the child’s voice.

“But at Christmas – didn’t you ever get a doll?”

“I was in a home for orphan girls, Mrs. Johnson didn’t think it was right for girls to waste their time on dolls. One Christmas some store sent such a beautiful lot and she returned them all. Some of us cried and we had to learn a lot of bible verses about improving your time. Occasionally a girl would get a clothes pin and tie the middle of her handkerchief around the head, and play it was a baby, and lend it out, then they would all get punished. I used to feel so sorry. Dolls are so sweet if they are only make believe. Where I lived the babies had rubber dolls that they could bang on the floor, but they were ugly. This one is splendid.”

“That is mine,” said Edith. “One of our cousins brought it from Paris. It can walk a little and say ‘Mama.’ I’m too big to play with dolls, and I’ve given the others to May and Jessie.”

“And we play tea with them. It is so lovely out on the back porch in the summer and mother lets us take the things down there. And I can make clothes,” said May. “But now you can have a doll, because you are going to have some money of your very own.”

“Yes,” she returned slowly.

There were many pretty things that Marilla wondered at. Edith took out her doll and put it in the visitor’s arms. It had such a lovely face that Marilla hugged it up tight and wanted to kiss it. Why it was fifty times sweeter than the twins.

Then they led her to their room. There were two pretty brass beds.

“Edith has the smaller one because she sleeps alone,” explained May, “and we little ones love to sleep together.”

There were two chiffoniers, and a big closet between the rooms, two pretty willow rockers and some lovely pictures beside various small gifts one could hang up or stand around. How charming it was!

Edith said she must go and study her lessons. May brought out her pretty dishes and her card albums. One was partly full of such pretty kittens Marilla wanted to hug them. Another was Christmas, Easter and birthday cards.

Marilla gave a soft little sigh. How many precious things she had missed out of her life! And though she could not have put it into words it was the tender companionship of childhood, of kindred tastes and eager loves. In the desert of Bethany Home all these emotions had been rigorously repressed. It was best for girls not to expect too much in the homes of other people, the little Cinderella whose place was in the chimney corner.

“Marilla,” called the voice of Mrs. Warren, in a sort of joyous tone, “Dr. Richards has come.”

She almost flew down stairs and he clasped her in his arms.

“I am so happy,” she cried in a voice tremulous with emotion. “It seems such a long, long while since morning so much has happened, and Mrs. Warren is to be my Aunt Grace, she said so, and I have three cousins!”

Her face was alight with happiness.

“I wonder if you would get homesick if we did not go back to Newton until some time next week?”

“Oh, no. I shouldn’t get homesick at all! But I couldn’t stay away from fairy godmother a long while. If I didn’t have her, Aunt Grace would take me, and the girls are just splendid!”

“I’ve been to a hospital this afternoon and I want to learn some new things to take home with me, so I will write. You must write, too. I’ve brought you some envelopes addressed and stamped. Why do you smile?”

“I was thinking of the letter I wrote to you in the summer, and I had to beg everything to write with, and Edith has such a nice portable writing desk, and the girls have portfolios, and they all go to school. Oh, it must be splendid to go to school with a crowd of nice girls and have a lovely teacher.”

She had been leading him through the parlor. Mrs. Warren met them and he went on in the sitting room, apologizing for his early appearance.

“Oh, I want you to come in and see your ward whenever you can, and I shall beg for quite a visit from her.”

“That will suit me. I feel that I have grown a little rusty and want to look into some new methods. What a wonderful city it is! It quite shames a country doctor.”

“I suppose so,” smiling. “You should come in often. Mr. Warren will be home presently and glad to meet you. Will you excuse me a few moments? This is my eldest daughter, Edith.”

“And can’t the others come?” asked Marilla.

“Why, yes, if you like.”

Dr. Richards was used to children. He thought he liked girls the best, and this was an attractive circle. How Marilla was enjoying it. Her eyes quivered with flashes of pleasure. Yes, children needed other children to start the real flow of delight through their veins, and his little Cinderella did not suffer by comparison.

Mr. Warren came in and welcomed his guest cordially, looking over the little girl about whom they had speculated. She was very attractive just now, with her face of sunshine and her eyes with their starry look under the long curling lashes.

The men had to discuss the queer unexpected fortune. The Warrens had been notified nearly a year before.

“But I hadn’t much faith in it,” laughed Mr. Warren. “My wife had really forgotten her family lineage, and we should hardly have claimed the Schermerhorns. There’s so much red tape in these matters and by the time the expenses are paid, there’s little left for the heirs, but this turns out better than I supposed, considering the many descendants the old man had. I can’t complain of the lawyers.”

“And we were very glad to find Marion’s child, though I wish I had known it when her mother died. Do you want to keep her at Newton?”

“I think Miss Armitage has some claims,” he returned.

“And I feel as if we ought to make up for our negligence.”

The children were in a little huddle on the corner of the sofa. What was Newton like? A real city?

“Why there are some beautiful long streets and stores and churches and a park and rows of houses built together like this, and schools and trolleys – ”

“Why it must be a city then?” said Edith. “Has it a mayor and a city hall and a postoffice?”

“It has a mayor and a postoffice and a court house. Mr. Borden used to talk of going there.”

“It is a very old town,” explained the guardian, “dating farther back than the Revolution, yet it was not much of a business center until the last thirty years; but it is very pretty and rather aristocratic.”

“Children,” said their mother, “go and make yourselves ready for dinner.”

“What lovely curly hair,” exclaimed May, half in envy. “I wish mine curled.”

“But you have two such beautiful braids.” “Jessie’s curled a little but it was so thin mother kept cutting it. Dear me! You wouldn’t catch me soaping and brushing the curl out of it if mine curled,” declared May.

They had a rather merry time at dinner and the children did not seem a bit afraid to talk, though they were not aggressive. But Dr. Richards thought his little ward compared very favorably with the others. Her daintiness suggested Miss Armitage, he fancied.

They sat a long while over their dessert of fruit and nuts, and then the guest said he would have to go as he wanted to attend a lecture by an eminent surgeon. He would be in tomorrow morning.

“I thought I would take Marilla out shopping with me. Come in to dinner again and spend the whole evening.”

Dr. Richards promised to.

The others went up to the sitting room. Mr. Warren took possession of the big Morris chair, May had one knee, Jessie the other and Edith seated herself on the broad arm and placed her arm over her father’s shoulder. They always exacted an hour of their father and he gave it with the utmost fondness.

“And here is a place for you, little Marilla,” he said. “Now the chair is full. I’ve wondered sometimes if Edith wouldn’t tip us over.”

“I’d have to be as fat as Auntie Belle to do that,” she laughed, “and now papa I want Marilla to tell you about a queer Home she was put in where they wouldn’t let the little girls have dolls nor playthings, and they made dollies out of clothes pins and had to hide them.”

“That was cruel to little girls. Why they have dolls by right and no one should prevent them. Didn’t you play any?”

“Oh yes, out of doors, tag and Uncle John and Scotland’s burning, and Lady Jane, and Ring around a Rosy; and then in summer you had to pull weeds in the garden. When it rained you had to march in doors, but if you tried to dance a little you had to go and sit down. Oh, they were very strict.”

“And what else did you do?”

“All the bigger girls made the beds and twice a week brushed up the floors, and every little while you went in the kitchen for a week and helped with the cooking so you would know how to work. When you were twelve they bound you out and you had to stay until you were eighteen.”

“But didn’t you study any?”

“Oh, yes, there was school every day.”

“And did you get bound-out?”

“Yes.” She flushed a little.

“But you did not stay?”

“Oh, tell papa about the babies,” cried Edith.

“And did you ever notice the Campbell’s soup little girl with her round eyes?”

“Who gets fat on eating soup? Yes,” and he laughed.

“They looked something like that,” said Marilla. “They were so fat and they had such round eyes, and you could make them laugh so easily. I went to take care of them and amuse them, but they were so good, they hardly ever cried, and I used to ride them round – they had such a beautiful wagon! But sometimes it seemed so heavy, it had to be big, you know, and then there was Jack. He wasn’t very good, but after awhile he went to kindergarten.”

“But how did you get away if you were bound?”

She told the story very simply and how a lovely lady took her in and she was ill a long while, and she knew this was a fairy godmother, so she always called her that, because —

“Because what?”

“It was a curious dream I had. Bridget said it was a dream; but it seemed so real, and I was Cinderella.”

“Oh, do tell us!” they pleaded.

“I am afraid it’s silly,” and she flushed.

“Cinderella is lovely, and did you see the Prince?”

They all looked so eager that she was persuaded. So she began by sitting in the corner of the kitchen and they listened as if they were enchanted. She was so vivid it seemed as if her face was transfigured. Mrs. Warren dropped her sewing and bent forward.

Edith drew a long breath and squeezed the new cousin’s hand. “Oh” she cried, “it’s lovelier than the real Cinderella, and you danced with the Prince? Can you dance – truly?”

“Oh, yes, after that, I used to dance for Bridget. Mrs. Johnson wouldn’t let you, she thought it wicked. It’s queer how people think about things, and I danced for the babies. Mrs. Borden and her sister went to dancing parties; they didn’t think it wrong. It’s so beautiful.”

“Our cousins Isabel and Charlie Firth go to dancing school. Mother thinks I may go next winter. They are teaching it in some schools.”

“Children,” said Mrs. Warren, “do you know what time it is? You must go to bed. Marilla you have betwitched us all. And papa will have hardly time to read his paper. Come. Marilla will not run away, so you can have her tomorrow night.”

Mr. Warren kissed all the little girls and they trooped off.

“You may sleep on the lounge in my room, Edith, and give Marilla your bed, I can’t send her up stairs alone, and now you must not say a word after your prayers for I know she is clear tired out.”

They were generally very good children to mind. Their mother left them with a good-night kiss. Mr. Warren had rolled his chair nearer the center table and taken up his paper.

“Mother,” he exclaimed, “that Marilla is an unusual child. How beautifully she describes everything, but the sweetest trait about her is her utter lack of bitterness. Most children would have been sharp and disparaging about Mrs. Johnson, but she never uttered a bitter word. It really was wonderful. I hope that Dr. Richards will give her a first-class education, and I’d like to see that fairy godmother. Marilla needs good care, she isn’t very strong, but there is happiness in every pulse of her small body. I wish we could keep her.”

The next morning the children had to kiss her half a dozen times before they went to school, and make her promise over and over again that she would not let Dr. Richards take her home. While Mrs. Warren was doing up her morning’s work Marilla wrote her letter to Miss Armitage, who smiled over the thrill of delight that ran through it. Aunt Grace was so sweet and lovely and she couldn’t describe the girls for she didn’t know any words that were beautiful enough and good enough to apply to them. Jessie was a real little beauty with the most wonderful eyes that were like brown velvet and sunshine, and she didn’t know father’s could be so sweet as Uncle Warren. Maybe Mr. Borden would love the twins that way when they grew older. They might be prettier then. But her dear fairy godmother lived in her mind all the time, she wanted her to see and hear everything. There would be so much to tell her that she couldn’t write.

It was a wonderful day to Marilla. Such splendid stores and gowns that were fit for queens. Such beautiful dishes and jewelry, such stacks of books; and, oh, such dolls holding out their hands with a pleading look in their eyes. She could hardly tear herself away. Was she too big to have a doll?

Then they went into a cozy place and had a dainty lunch, only it did seem as if Marilla was too happy to eat. If fairy godmother were only here!

Afterward they went to the Eden Musee. You had to ride from place to place; why, it was full of strange people who never stirred. They could not be dead! What was the matter with them? The wonder in her eyes made Mrs. Warren smile. Some were funny, too; you wanted to laugh with them. Marilla sat down in perfect despair as if she had gone to some strange country.

“I don’t see how they can make them just like folks,” she said. “You feel almost sure they are going to speak to you.”

A very tired little girl it was who came home, but it was such a pleasant, happy tired she didn’t mind. It wasn’t like dragging the heavy babies around. Aunt Grace made her lie down on the lounge and the girls gathered round her talking it over. They had been several times.

Then Dr. Richards came in and they had such a delightful time. Why the whole world of pleasure was fairy land when you come to think of it. “And there’s the Hippodrome,” said Edith. “Oh mother don’t you believe father could take us on Saturday?”

“And couldn’t I go, too?”

The doctor asked in such a whimsical tone that they all laughed. Jessie sidled up to him, she was well so she need not be afraid of a doctor. She was very sweet but she wasn’t quite Cinderella.

What a fine evening they had! It seemed as if they must have known each other for years. Bits of Marilla’s life came out unconsciously; the doing for others without thinking of herself that really did glorify it. Unwittingly she showed more of it to Dr. Richards than she had ever before in her gratitude. Under the children’s questions some of the trials came out.

Every morning she wrote to Miss Armitage out of her full heart, and the lady understood how she would thrive in natural companionship. Almost she felt as if she ought to yield her to these relatives, but she wanted her. It was strange how she had left her impress everywhere yet she was a very modest little girl, demanding nothing, taking all favors with a gratitude that was fascinating. Jane rehearsed so many pretty sayings and missed her everywhere. Bridget came around to hear whether the story of the fortune was absolutely true. The Bordens could hardly believe it. Mr. John Borden wished they had not let her go quite so soon. “She certainly was a nice child,” he said.

They went to the great stores and to Central Park, and Marilla overflowed with happiness. Why it was like the fairy dream, and she wished the girls at the Home could have some of it, or could find a fairy godmother. There were so many things to interest the doctor. How the days did slip away and all the time Marilla grew sweeter, dearer; but at last he said they must go home.

“Oh, how can we let you go?” cried Edith. “Why I do believe you came from fairy land yourself; but now you’ll come and visit us often.”

“And you can come to Newton. Fairy godmother has such a lovely house, and she is so sweet. You will like her.”

Oh, the child ought not be on sufferance but have the genial freedom of a home of her very own where she could live over the childhood she had missed and learn the glad inspiration of youth.

What did Miss Armitage mean to do for her? Yes, she wanted her; why there would be a great loss in life without her, but she no longer needed charity. She could not do everything for her; as she had planned. Would she share a divided interest?

Dr. Richards heart yearned over her, coveted her. Marilla had crept in and taken possession of his inmost soul. It was not likely there would be any other occupant. For he had never seen any sign of relenting on Miss Armitage’s part. They were excellent friends. Neither overstepped the prescribed bounds, and he must have something to love and to cherish.

But he had to tear himself away presently, and he carried her with him in his heart, and the next morning he dropped in and had her all to himself. Mrs. Warren had gone to the dressmakers.

“Oh,” Marilla said with a long sigh of delight, “how lovely it is to have sisters! and – and a father! If I couldn’t have but one I think I’d take the father. Isn’t Mr. Warren just splendid and sweet and charming? There’s a book of poems at Miss Armitage’s that has one such beautiful thing – ‘The Children’s Hour.’ And they have it here. The hour after dinner if there are no visitors belongs to the children. The smaller ones take possession of his lap and Edith sits on the arm of the chair. I sat on the other,” and she laughed with such a happy sound. “And they tell him everything, what they have read and studied, and the little troubles and differences and perplexities, and he listens and explains and laughs with them when it is funny, and everything is so nice. I didn’t suppose fathers could be so dear and sweet, but I never knew any real father except Mr. Borden, and Jack was a torment. He wanted to pound and bang and wrinkle up things and ask silly questions. Maybe the twins will be different, and perhaps he will love girls the best.”