"
"Let your little boy and girl ride in our carriage," begged Robert
Day, seizing on this relief from monotony.
"Yes do," said his grandmother, turning her glasses upon the little
boy and girl. Aunt Corinne had been inspecting them as they stood at
their father's heels, and bestowing experimental smiles on them. The
boy was a clear brown-eyed fellow with butternut trousers up to his
arm-pits, and a wool hat all out of shape. The little girl looked
red-faced and precise, the color from her lips having evidently become
diluted through her skin. Over a linsey petticoat she wore a calico
belted apron. The belt was as broad as the length of aunt Corinne's
hand, for in the course of the morning aunt Corinne furtively
measured it. Although it was June weather, this little girl also wore
stout shoes and yarn stockings.
"Well, they might get in if they won't crowd you," assented their
father. "You're all to take dinner with us, my wife says."
The children were hoisted up the steps, which they climbed with
agile feet, as if accustomed to scaling high cart wheels. Bobaday sat
by his grandmother, and the back seat received this addition to the
party without at all crowding aunt Corinne.
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