But Nellie Slater was not standing dry-eyed and pale at
the window.
"Did you ask Tom Motherwell?" Fred, her brother, asked,
looking up from a list he held in his hand.
"I sent him a note," Nellie answered, turning around from
the baking-board. "We couldn't leave Tom out. Poor boy,
he never has any fun, and I do feel sorry for him."
"His mother won't let him come, anyway," Fred said smiling.
"So don't set your heart on seeing him, Nell."
"How discouraging you are Fred," Nellie replied laughing.
"Now, I believe he will come. Tom would be a smart boy
if he had a chance, I think. But just think what it must
be like to live with two people like the Motherwells.
You do not realise it, Fred, because you have had the
superior advantages of living with clever people like
your brother Peter and your sister Eleanor Mary; isn't
that so, Peter?"
Peter Slater, the youngest of the family, who had just
come in, laid down the milk-pails before replying.
"We have done our best for them all, Nellie," he said
modestly. "I hope they will repay us. But did I hear you
say Tom Motherwell was coming?"
"You heard Nell say so," Fred answered, checking over
the names. "Nell seems to like Tom pretty well."
"I do, indeed," Nellie assented, without turning around.
"You show good taste, Eleanor," Peter said as he washed
his hands.
"Who is going to drive into town for Camilla?" Nellie
asked that evening.
"I am," Fred answered promptly.
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