“Really,” said Mr. Elston, “I have been very stupid; for I can see now that your Amy resembles you and her aunt as well. I was a great admirer of Miss Fanny Redmond, and from things I have heard Brenda say, I am sure that your Amy in many ways is like her aunt. She—that is, Miss Fanny—used to write poetry, did n’t she?”
“Ah, yes,” responded Mrs. Redmond, with a sigh. “Her talent comes to Amy from her father’s family. I have not encouraged it as much as I might, for Amy must lead a practical life, and verse-writing is not exactly practical.”
“Oh, well, now, you can’t tell. There was Mrs. Browning,” said Mr. Elston.
“Amy will never be a Mrs. Browning,” said Mrs. Redmond, smiling. “Indeed, I have not that ambition for her, although I wish her to have as good an education as I can possibly afford her.”
“Amy has been of great assistance to Brenda this summer,” interposed Mrs. Barlow, who had been listening to the conversation. “Brenda herself does not realize how greatly she has been helped by Amy. But her father and I have realized it, and we are glad that the two girls have become warm friends.”
Just then Brenda burst into the room, closely followed by Arthur Weston.
“Good-morning, Mrs. Redmond; good-morning, cousin Edward. Oh, mamma! Arthur has a letter; he must go to New York the first of the week to meet Ralph and
