The Argosy — page 66: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

56 MY ELDEST SISTER. By Lapy DuNBoyNE. (SEI we Trevelyans are an eminently good-looking family ! I say so with the less fear of laying myself under an imputation ot vanity, because it long ago became a settled point that I, the sixth member thereof, am the only one who can possibly be called plain, and that, as brother Max consolingly observes, would not be the case in any less favoured circle. But Ella, our youngest, is the very ideal of a lovely girl of eighteen, and Gertrude and Kathleen were recognised London beauties before they were snapped up at the close of their respective introductory seasons, Then where would you find handsomer young fellows than Max, our Guardsman, or Lawrence, just entered at Christ Church ? And Janet—dear old Janet, the mainstay and guardian of us all— she must have been pretty, long ago—in the same style as the rest, dark-haired and bright complexioned—before her brown eyes began to show crows’-feet at the corners and her cheeks to grow thin, with the colour in fixed red lines, instead of that lovely bright flush which comes and goes. But my musings on the merits of my family are interrupted by Ella’s gay voice. “‘ Gracie, Gracie! you incorrigible dawdle ; do you intend to go to Wichnor this morning, or not?” I jump up in a hurry. The pony-cart is at the door, and Janet, as usual, on the watch, ‘‘ Children, are you ever coming? Don’t forget my list of commis- sions, and especially be sure to bring the ice. Cook is almost in despair, and the weather grows hotter every day.” Five minutes more, and we are bowling merrily along the three miles between our home, Brookfield Manor, and the cathedral town of Wichnor. It is Saturday and market-day, and we are engaged to lunch with some of our friends, and expect to obtain a cursory view of a good many others, either in the cathedral or the close. Wherefore I have exposed my new frock to the perils of a dusty drive, and Ella has donned her Paris hat, well knowing that it makes her laughing brown: eyes and delicately tinted face more irresistible than ever. But Janet’s commissions prove more troublesome than we have anticipated, and we have barely finished them in time for luncheon. This, at Canon Lightwood’s hospitable board, is always a lengthy performance, and we have to hurry off almost as soon as it is over, or we shall lose our usual seats. comicbooks.com