She was the only child in Plainsville who could boast the distinction of having been abroad, and there was a glamour about it that enchanted them.

They were never tired of hearing of her adventures.
"It's horrid to be poor," she said again, clapping the lid on the kettle.

"I hate to live in a little crowded-up house, and spoil my hands with dust and dish-water, and do the same things year in and year out." Joyce stopped suddenly, wishing that she could unsay that last speech, for the little mother had come into the kitchen in time to hear it.
There was a pained expression on her face.
"I am afraid my bird of passage will never be satisfied with the little home nest again," she said, sadly.
"Oh, mother, I didn't mean it as bad as it sounds; truly, I didn't," cried Joyce.

"You know that usually I am as contented as a cricket; but I don't know what is the matter with me to-day.

It must be the weather." Just then there was a stamping on the porch outside, and the violent flapping of an umbrella to rid it of the raindrops clinging to it.
"Jack!" shouted Mary, rushing to the door, with Holland and the baby tagging at her heels.