"Then there's a little couple that live in a third-story flat in South
Boston. They're young and like good times; but the man is on a small
salary, and they have had lots of sickness. He's been out so much he
can't take any vacation, and they wouldn't have any money to go anywhere
if he could. Well, I'm going to have them a week. She'll be here all the
time, and he'll come out at night, of course.
"Another one is a widow with six children. The children are already
provided for by a fresh-air society, but the woman I'm going to take,
and--and give her a whole week of food that she didn't have to cook
herself. Another one is a woman who is not so very poor, but who has
lost her baby, and is blue and discouraged. There are some children,
too, one crippled, and a boy who says he's 'just lonesome.' And there
are--really, Bertram, there is no end to them."
"I can well believe that," declared Bertram, with emphasis, "so far as
your generous heart is concerned."
Billy colored and looked distressed.
"But it isn't generosity or charity at all, Bertram," she protested.
"You are mistaken when you think it is--really! Why, I shall enjoy every
bit of it just as well as they do--and better, perhaps."
"But you stay here--in the city--all summer for their sakes."
"What if I do? Besides, this isn't the real city," argued Billy, "with
all these trees and lawns about one.
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