We Ten | Page 8

how many sheets of paper and envelopes are spoilt in the undertaking.
Once, in a fit of desperation, Felix bought a "Complete Letter-Writer,"
and we hunted through it; but there seemed to be nothing in it suitable
for an occasion such as ours, and besides, the language used in the
"Letter-Writer" was so very fine and unlike our former efforts that we
were afraid aunt Lindsay would, as Phil vulgarly puts it, "smell a
mice." So that had to be given up, and finally, after many and great
struggles, with the help of the whole family, we would manage to write
something that Miss Marston allowed us to send. On the principle that
brevity is wit, some of these productions of ours are really remarkable.
And now, though it was neither Christmas nor our birthday, here came
two letters from our godmother which would have to be answered. We
groaned as we received them, and the family, even to Kathie, gave us
their sympathy,--Phil suggesting that perhaps "the old lady" had sent us
a whole library this time, which would of course call for a special
expression of gratitude.
Think, then, how we felt when we opened the letters and found that our
godmother wrote to tell us she had made arrangements for Felix to take
painting lessons for one term, and for me, violin lessons for the same
length of time! To say we were astonished doesn't at all express our
state of mind. The questions that occurred to us when we got over the
first shock were, how could aunt Lindsay have known just what would

best please each of us, and why had she remembered us at this time of
the year, which was no particular occasion? And then we thought of her
kindness, and were so ashamed! Fee and I looked at each other, and
though we didn't say it, the same thought came to us both,--that we
would write her the nicest letter of thanks that we could compose, if it
took every sheet of note-paper we owned.
Of course we read aunt Lindsay's letter aloud,--that and talking them
over is the best part of receiving letters,--and of course we all got very
much excited over our unexpected good fortune. Felix said right away
that he would give Nora lessons in drawing two afternoons in the
week,--she really draws very nicely, and is so anxious to get
on,--provided she'd promise not to "put on any airs or frills;" and I told
Fee I'd help him--in the same way--with his violin playing. Then Phil
proposed, and the whole family approved, that we should on the
following evening--which was papa's night at the Archæological
Society--celebrate the happy event by what we call "a musical
performance."
Though we are very fond of these "performances," we have not had one
for quite a while, because some of us older ones haven't felt up to it; for,
as Fee truly says, "it really requires very good spirits indeed to make a
festive occasion go off successfully." Since that day in papa's study that
Jack has told about, nothing more has been said of Fee's going to
college,--though we all want it just as much as ever, and Jack and I feel
that it will come,--and Felix himself seems to have quite given up the
idea.
He laughs and jokes again in his old merry way, particularly when Phil
is at home; Nora and he have made friends, and Betty and Jack have
got over staring at Fee with big round eyes of sympathy, and dear old
Phil no longer skulks in and out of the house as if he were ashamed of
himself; now he tells us bits of his college experience, and--as of
old--gets Felix to help him with his studies. Things look as if
everybody was satisfied; but, though he never alludes to it, I know
Fee's heart is sore over his disappointment,--you see, he is my own twin,
and, while I love all my brothers and sisters, Felix is more dear to me

than any one else in the whole wide world, and I understand him better
than anybody else does.
Fee is not like the rest of us; in the first place, he is more delicate, and
his lameness makes him very sensitive. Then, too, though we all, from
Phil to Alan, confide in him our troubles and pleasures, he rarely, if
ever, opens his heart to any of us. And when we talk things over among
ourselves, and so in a way help one another along, Fee keeps his
deepest feelings to himself. Very often we children talk of dear mamma,
particularly when we're together in the firelight Sunday afternoons and
evenings,--it's a comfort to us; but Felix simply listens,--he never
speaks of her, though he was