"Was she so awfully pretty, Father?" I could feel the little thrills tingling all over me. Now I was getting a love story!
"She was, my dear. She was very lovely. But it wasn't just that—it was a joyous something that I could not describe. It was as if she were a bird, poised for flight. I know it now for what it was—the very incarnation of the spirit of youth. And she was young. Why, Mary, she was not so many years older than you yourself, now."
I nodded, and I guess I sighed.
"I know—where the brook and river meet," I said; "only they won't let me have any lovers at all."
"Eh? What?" Father had turned and was looking at me so funny. "Well, no, I should say not," he said then. "You aren't sixteen yet. And your mother—I suspect she was to
