Little dreamy Una was not given to laughter. Her braids of
straight, dead-black hair betrayed no lawless kinks, and her
almond-shaped, dark-blue eyes had something wistful and sorrowful
in them. Her mouth had a trick of falling open over her tiny
white teeth, and a shy, meditative smile occasionally crept over
her small face. She was much more sensitive to public opinion
than Faith, and had an uneasy consciousness that there was
something askew in their way of living. She longed to put it
right, but did not know how. Now and then she dusted the
furniture--but it was so seldom she could find the duster because
it was never in the same place twice. And when the clothes-brush
was to be found she tried to brush her father's best suit on
Saturdays, and once sewed on a missing button with coarse white
thread. When Mr. Meredith went to church next day every female
eye saw that button and the peace of the Ladies' Aid was upset
for weeks.

Carl had the clear, bright, dark-blue eyes, fearless and direct,
of his dead mother, and her brown hair with its glints of gold.
He knew the secrets of bugs and had a sort of freemasonry with
bees and beetles. Una never liked to sit near him because she
never knew what uncanny creature might be secreted about him.
Jerry refused to sleep with him because Carl had once taken a
young garter snake to bed with him; so Carl slept in his old cot,
which was so short that he could never stretch out, and had
strange bed-fellows. Perhaps it was just as well that Aunt
Martha was half blind when she made that bed. Altogether they
were a jolly, lovable little crew, and Cecilia Meredith's heart
must have ached bitterly when she faced the knowledge that she
must leave them.