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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Tides of Barnegat"

"What kind of a stamp
has it got?"
"Never you mind about the stamp."
"Uncle John--and it's about my going to Philadelphia."
Jane laughed. "Uncle John never saw it."
"Then it's from--Oh, you tell me, mother!"
"No--guess. Think of everybody you ever heard
of. Those you have seen and those you--"
"Oh, I know--Aunt Lucy."
"Yes, and she's coming home. Home, Archie,
think of it, after all these years!"
"Well, that's bully! She won't know me, will
she? I never saw her, did I?"
"Yes, when you were a little fellow." It was
difficult to keep the tremor out of her voice.
"Will she bring any dukes and high daddies with
her?"
"No," laughed Jane, "only her little daughter
Ellen, the sweetest little girl you ever saw, she
writes."
"How old is she?"
He had slipped his arm around his mother's waist
now and the two were "toeing it" up the path, he
stopping every few feet to root a pebble from its
bed. The coming of the aunt was not a great event
in his life.
"Just seven her last birthday."
"All right, she's big enough. We'll take her out
and teach her to fish. Hello, granny!" and the boy
loosened his arm as he darted up the steps toward
Martha.


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