I long for it as an
imprisoned bird longs for fresh air and green woods."
"You would not find it all happiness," said Lillian, sagely.
"Spare me all truism," cried Beatrice. "Ah, sister, I am tired
of all this; for eleven years the sea has been singing the same
songs; those waves rise and fall as they did a hundred years
since; the birds sing the same story; the sun shines the same;
even the shadow of the great elms fall over the meadow just as it
did when we first played there. I long to away from the sound of
the sea and the rustling of the elm trees. I want to be where
there are girls of my own age, and do as they do. It seems to
me we shall go on reading and writing, sewing and drawing, and
taking what mamma calls instructive rambles until our heads grow
gray."
"It is not so bad as that, Beatrice," laughed Lillian. "Lady
Earle says papa must return some day; then we shall all go to
him."
"I never believe one word of it," said Beatrice, undauntedly.
"At times I could almost declare papa himself was a myth. Why do
we not live with him? Why does he never write? We never hear of
or from him, save through Lady Earle; besides, Lillian, what do
you think I heard Mrs.
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