she saw that it meant a great deal to her to have this glimpse of the doings of more fortunate people. One of the best effects on Amy of her intimacy with Brenda had been the broadening of her sympathy, so that she was much less impatient with the little peculiarities of cousin Joan, that sometimes were rather trying.
“Don’t forget,” said cousin Joan, as she started to go downstairs,—“don’t forget to see if Mrs. Murphy’s tidy gets a prize; it’s real Irish lace, and she ’s been working on it for a long time.”
“Yes, ’m,” said Amy, as she hastened down and out to the side of the house, where Fritz and Ben were already waiting for her.
They were not to ride all the way to the Fair, but at the station were to join Brenda and the others, and go by train to Salem.
“Let me see,” cried Mr. Elston, as they got out of the cars, “are all my charges here?” and he proceeded to count “one, two, three, four, five, six—why, with myself we are seven. That will suit the poetic members of the party,” and, with a smile in Amy’s direction, Mr. Elston mounted his wheel and led the way. They dismounted once or twice only, once merely to take breath, and once to visit the building erected to the memory of the great philanthropist, George Peabody, in which is a gold medal and other testimonials that he received in England. Up the long street from Salem through Peabody they pressed, and at last, before a large brick building, they halted.
“Here we are!” cried Mr. Elston.
