courtesy, yet each side kept its proper and distinctive relations; real
worth was respected and dignified living held in esteem. From a
printer's boy, Benjamin Franklin had stood before kings and added luster
to his country. From a farm at Braintree had come one of the famous
Adamses and his not less notable wife, who had admirably filled the
position of the first lady of the land.

Yet the odd, narrow, crooked streets of a hundred years before were
running everywhere, occasionally broadened and straightened. There were
still wide spaces and pasture fields, declivities where the barberry
bush and locust and May flower grew undisturbed. There were quaint nooks
with legends, made famous since by eloquent pens; there were curious old
shops designated by queer sign and symbols.

But even the pleasures were taken in a leisurely, dignified way. There
was no wild rush to stand at the head or to outdo a neighbor, or
astonish those who might be looking on and could not participate.

Doris enjoyed it wonderfully. She had a sudden accession of subtle pride
when some fine old gentleman bowed to Uncle Win, or a sleigh full of
elegantly attired ladies smiled and nodded. There were large hats
framing in pretty faces, and bows and nodding plumes on the top such as
Mrs. King had written about. Oh, how lovely Betty would look in hers!
What was Hartford like; and New Haven, with its college; then, farther
on, New York; and Washington, where the Presidents lived while they held
office? She was learning so many things about this new home.

Over here on the Common the boys were drawn up in two lines and
snowballing as if it was all in dead earnest. And this was the rambling
old house with its big porch and stepping block, and its delightful
welcome.

"Are you not most frozen?" asked Miss Recompense. "Here is the fire you
like so much. Take off your cloak and hood. We are very glad to have you
come and make us a visit."

"Oh, are you?" Doris' face was a gleam of delight. "And I am glad to
come. I was beginning to feel dreadfully lonesome without Betty. I ought
not when there were so many left," and a bright color suffused her face.
"Then there is little James."

"And we have no small people."

"I never had any over home, you know. And so many people here have such
numbers of brothers and sisters. It must be delightful."

"But they are not all little at once."

"No," laughed Doris. "I should like to be somewhere in the middle.
Babi