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In Paris they drove out to the Bois by way of the Champs Elysees. In Colhassett they had only one ice-cream saloon, but in Paris they had a good many of them out-of-doors in the parks and even on the sidewalk, and there you could buy all kinds of sirups and 'what you call cordials' and aperitifs; but the two places on the whole were quite different. The people were different, too.
"You are a wonder, Gram," Gertrude said admiringly. "Oh! I have made a mess of it, haven't I?" Beulah said. "Is she homesick?" "Yes, she's homesick," Peter said gravely, "but not for anything she's left in Colhassett. David told you the story, didn't he? She is homesick for her own kind, for people she can really love, and she's never found any of them.
"The Lord that they have in Colhassett is not like that," Eleanor stated without conscious irreverence. "She is a vary fonny child, madam," Mademoiselle answered Mrs. Bolling's inquiry. "She has taste, but no experience even of the most ordinary. She cooks, but she does no embroidery. She knits and knows no games to play.
That is why I suggested that you tell me about your grandparents. I don't care what you tell me, but I think it would be very suitable for you to tell me something. Are they native Cape Codders? I'm a New Englander myself, you know, so you may be perfectly frank with me." "They're not summer folks," the child said. "They just live in Colhassett all the year round.
Uncle David pays me my salary out of his own pocket, because he is the richest, but I like Uncle Peter the best. He is very handsome and we like to talk to each other the best. Goodbye, Eleanor." On the outside, just above the cherry tree, her name was written with a pencil that had been many times wet to get the desired degree of blackness, "Eleanor Hamlin, Colhassett, Massachusetts.
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