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THE WINDOWat your door in London positively brown with dirt.It should be made illegal. A model dairy and ahospital up here—those two things she wouldhave liked to do, herself. But how? With allthese children? When they were older, thenperhaps she would have time; when they were allat school.

Oh, but she never wanted James to grow aday older or Cam either. These two she wouldhave liked to keep for ever just as they were,demons of wickedness, angels of delight, neverto see them grow up into long-legged monsters.Nothing made up for the loss. When she readjust now to James, "and there were numbers ofsoldiers with kettle-drums and trumpets", andhis eyes darkened, she thought, why should theygrow up, and lose all that? He was the mostgifted, the most sensitive of her children. But all,she thought, were full of promise. Prue, a perfectangel with the others, and sometimes now, atnight especially, she took one’s breath away withher beauty. Andrew—even her husband ad-mitted that his gift for mathematics was extra-ordinary. And Nancy and Roger, they wereboth wild creatures now, scampering about overthe country all day long. As for Rose, hermouth was too big, but she had a wonderful giftwith her hands. If they had charades, Rose93