You know so little about us, that perhaps you do not
remember which of us Hilary is. She comes next to me, and is just
thirteen. She hasn't been well for a long time, not since she had to
leave school last winter, and the doctor says that what she needs is a
thorough change. Mother and I have talked it over and over, but we
simply can't manage it. I would try to earn some money, but I haven't
a single accomplishment; besides I don't see how I could leave home,
and anyway it would take so long, and Hilary needs a change now. And
so I am writing to ask you to please help us out a little. I do hope
you won't be angry at my asking; and I hope very, very much, that you
will answer favorably.
I remain,
Very respectfully,
PAULINE ALMY SHAW.
WINTON, VT., May Sixteenth.
Pauline laughed rather nervously as she slipped her letter into an
envelope and addressed it. It wasn't a very big flag, but perhaps it
would serve her purpose.
Tucking the letter into her blouse, Pauline ran down-stairs to the
sitting-room, where her mother and Hilary were. "I'm going down to the
post-office, mother," she said; "any errands?"
"My dear, in this rain?"
"There won't be any mail for us, Paul," Hilary said, glancing
listlessly up from the book she was trying to read; "you'll only get
all wet and uncomfortable for nothing.
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