THE WINDOWat your door in London positively brown with dirt.It should be made illegal. A model dairy and ahospital up here—those two things she wouldhave liked to do, herself. But how? With allthese children? When they were older, thenperhaps she would have time; when they were allat school.

Oh, but she never wanted James to grow a dayolder! or Cam either. These two she wouldhave liked to keep for ever just as they were,demons of wickedness, angels of delight, neverto see them grow up into long-legged monsters.Nothing made up for the loss. When she readjust now to James, "and there were numbers ofsoldiers with kettle-drums and trumpets", andhis eyes darkened, she thought, why should theygrow up, and lose all that? He was the mostgifted, the most sensitive of them.herchildrenVW: line indicates point of insertion. —peter.shillingsburgBut all, shethought, were full of promise. Prue, a perfectangel with the others, and sometimes now, atnight especially, she took one's breath away withher beauty. Andrew—even her husband ad-mitted that his gift for mathematics was extra-ordinary. And Nancy and Roger, they wereboth wild creatures now, scampering about overthe country all day long. As for Rose, hermouth was too big, but she had a wonderful giftwith her hands. If they had charades, Rose93
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