A giant's great glittering eye she called that; the trees on the hills
above the giant's brows, and the ferns and grasses growing on either bank
were upper and lower lashes. With a little encouragement Roberta would
have been a genuine poet.
But Aunt Betsy took such a literal view of things, she was constantly
saying to Mrs. Marsden:
"That child's imagination will get away with her, Julia, if you don't
check it. It will, indeed."
And she had a way of making the child repeat over and over again
descriptions of things that had struck her fancy, and cutting here and
there until the description didn't seem applicable at all to the places
she had seen.
"I feel just like the old woman in Mother Goose, Auntie," Roberta would
say, her eyes full of vexed tears, "when she woke up on the king's highway
and found her petticoats were cut off."
"But truth is truth, child," said Aunt Betsy.
Aunt Betsy's intensely realistic temperament could not understand that
fine, exquisite perception God had given the little girl, which enabled
her to see beauty that others, differently organized, would never see,
nor, believe was there.
The house, where four generations of Mrs.
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