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Updated: June 15, 2025
We are all known by our straight names. I say known; because we do have little pet ways of calling, among ourselves, sometimes one way and sometimes another; but we don't let these get out of doors much. Mr. Holabird doesn't like it.
"No," said Mrs. Holabird; "and especially at the front windows. A great deal that is good a great deal of the best comes in at the back-doors." Everybody, we thought, did not have a back-door to their life, as we did. They hardly seemed to know if they had one to their houses. Our "back yett was ajee," now, at any rate. Aaron Goldthwaite's ward.
The wide sashes were thrown up, and there were light chairs outside; Mrs. Holabird would give the guests tea and coffee, and Ruth and Barbara would sit in the window-seats and do the waiting, back and forth, and Dakie Thayne and Harry Goldthwaite would help.
Holabird did, and their children, for such length of the time as their ages allowed for nineteen years; and then we moved to Westover, and this story began. They called it "Westover," more or less, years and years before; when there were no houses up the hill at all; only farm lands and pastures, and a turnpike road running straight up one side and down the other, in the sun.
If she had not sprung so quickly and gathered them all up for him, some of them might have blown quite away, and led father a chase after them over the hill. After that, old Mr. Holabird put them up in his wallet again, and when they had talked a few minutes more they went off together to the old house. It was wonderful how that wind and rain did come up.
"And that she didn't have to come through our clothes-yard of a Monday morning, to see just how many white skirts we have in the wash," added Barbara. But this is off the track. "What is it, Ruth?" asked Mrs. Holabird, as she came in upon the little figure in the white chair, midway in the long light through the open rooms. "You didn't really mind Stephen, did you?" "O no, indeed, aunt!
I've thought of it till I'm almost tired of it. I don't much believe we shall come, after all, Mr. Thayne." "We shall miss you very much," said Mrs. Holabird, covering Barbara's nonsense. "Our summer has stopped right in the middle," said Barbara, determined to talk. "I shall hear about you all," said Dakie Thayne. "There's to be a Westover column in Leslie's news.
"What day of the month is it?" asked Mrs. Holabird, looking up from her letter. Ruth told. "How do you always know the day of the month?" said Rosamond. "You are as pat as the almanac. I have to stop and think whether anything particular has happened, to remember any day by, since the first, and then count up.
That was what Rosamond said herself about it, when Ruth told it all at home. The response is almost always there to those who go for it; if it is not, there is no use any way. Mrs. Marchbanks smiled. "Does Mrs. Holabird know?" "O yes; she always knows." There was a little distance and a touch of business in Mrs. Marchbanks's manner after this.
We can walk across, I suppose, Mr. Holabird, and see what it is all about. Kittens, I dare say." "Yes," said Ruth, laughing out; "it is kittens, partly. Or was." So we saw them, from mother's room window, all coming along down the side-hill path together. We always went out at the front door to look at the morning.
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