Those Brewster Children

Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 52302-h.htm or 52302-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/52302/pg52302-images.html) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/52302/52302-h.zip)

Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/thosebrewsterchi00kingiala

THOSE BREWSTER CHILDREN

[Illustration: The occasion was not wholly barren of material for a trained psychologist (page 56)]

THOSE BREWSTER CHILDREN

by

FLORENCE MORSE KINGSLEY

Author of "The Singular Miss Smith," "And So They Were Married," etc.

With Illustrations by Emily Hall Chamberlain

New York Dodd, Mead & Company 1910

Copyright, 1908 By Phelps Publishing Company

Copyright, 1910 By Dodd, Mead and Company

Published, March, 1910

ILLUSTRATIONS

The occasion was not wholly barren of material for a trained psychologist (page 56) Frontispiece

"Cwyin'?" he observed in a bird-like voice Facing page 146

"She'll remember it, you'll find, better than one of Mrs. Stanford's whippings" " " 182

I

Elizabeth Brewster sat by the window of her sewing-room in the fading light of the winter afternoon. She had been straining her eyes a little over her work and the intent look did not leave them as she glanced out into the gathering dusk. She could see all three of the children at their play on the lawn. Carroll, tall and sturdy for his eight years; Doris slim and active, her reddish blond hair streaming out from under her hood and blowing about her eager little face, and three-year-old Baby Richard, toiling manfully to keep up with the others as they piled damp snow-balls into the rude semblance of a human figure.

"Darlings!" murmured the mother to herself, a happy light seemingly reflected from the red winter sunset shining on her face. She raised the sash a hand's breadth and called to them, "Come in now, children; it is growing too cold for Richard to stay out any longer."

She glanced regretfully at her unfinished sewing as she rose, gathering up thread, scissors and thimble with the absent-minded carefulness born of long habit. Something was scorching on the kitchen range, she feared, a well-founded distrust of the heavy-handed Norwegian maid hastening her steps down the precipitous back stairway.

The range was heated to redness, and several saucepans huddled together over the hottest place were bubbling furiously. Celia, the maid, was setting the table in the dining-room, with slow, meditative motions like those of an ox. She did not appear at all disturbed at sight of her mistress hurriedly dashing water into one of the utensils, from which arose an evil-smelling steam.

"Oh, Celia! how many times must I tell you to cook the vegetables in plenty of water?" demanded Mrs. Brewster, in despairing tones. "And look! your fire is almost up to the griddles. Have you shaken it down this afternoon?"

The girl shook her big head with its untidy braids of straw-coloured hair. "Naw!" she observed explosively, after a pause filled with the noise of descending ashes.

"You should say 'no, Mrs. Brewster,' or 'no, ma'am,'" her mistress said, with an obvious effort after self-control. "Try not to forget again, Celia. Now you may go up to your room and make yourself tidy before you finish dinner."