Page:The Star in the Window.pdf/43

Rh The sleeves were long; the skirt reached half-way to her ankles; and it buttoned down behind! It seemed to Reba that all her carefully made clothes were peculiar beside the creations worn by the young people at the summer-hotels. She had been glad that the big rocking-chairs on the verandas had such high, concealing backs. They helped hide Aunt Augusta as well as herself. Aunt Augusta was an extraordinarily tall women. People stared at her.

Yet, in spite of such disheartening experiences, repeated year after year, Reba had never quite lost faith that sometime—somehow—the choice of a summer-resort would prove more fortunate. Each season, for weeks before the actual day of departure, she nursed a secret hope that this time circumstances would be kinder. She never started forth without having wistfully air-castled for days upon the possibility of running across somebody, among all the strangers this year—man or girl, it wouldn't matter which—just somebody who would be willing to become her friend; somebody she could walk and talk with, and—thrilling thought—write letters to afterward! The mail had never been a source of eager expectations to Reba.

But out of all the five fortnights spent at the summer-resorts (Aunt Augusta had abandoned the experiment finally) Reba treasured but one pleasant memory, and that a small one—simply the kind, and as she now analyzed it, probably pitying, invitation from a young man—a wonderful creature in white flannels—to join a sailing-party of young people. She hadn't accepted, of course. Why, even his smile, and his clear eyes looking straight at her, had struck her almost dumb. But he had asked her! He had thought it possible to