"It is dreadful that she should be forced to grow up here." "Lucilla ?" asked Dickory.
"Yes, sir," she said, "my eldest daughter.

But she is not here now." Dickory thought that it was somewhat odd that he should be again informed of a fact which he knew very well, but he made no remarks upon the subject.
Still wearing his cocked hat--for he had nothing else with which to shield his head from the sun--and with his uniform coat on, for he had not yet an opportunity of ripping from it the letter he carried, and this he would not part from--Dickory roamed about the little settlement.
Mander was an industrious and thrifty man.

His garden, his buildings, and his surroundings showed that.
Walking past a clump of low bushes, Dickory was startled by a laugh--a hearty laugh--the laugh of a girl.

Looking quickly around, he saw, peering above the tops of the bushes, the face of the girl who had laughed.
"It is too funny!" she said, as his eyes fell upon her.

"I never saw anything so funny in all my life.