Allan was five years older than I; he was only a year younger than
Fred, but the difference between them was very great. Allan looked
the elder of the two; he was not so tall as Fred, but he was strongly
built and sturdy; he was dark-complexioned, and his features were
almost as irregular as mine; but in a man that did not so much
matter, and very few people called Allan plain.

Allan had always been my special brother--most sisters know what I
mean by that term. Allan was undemonstrative; he seldom petted or
made much of me, but a word from him was worth a hundred from Fred;
and there was a quiet unspoken sympathy between us that was
sufficiently palpable. If Allan wanted his gloves mended he always
came to me, and not to Carrie. I was his chief correspondent, and he
made me the confidante of his professional hopes and fears. In
return, he good-humoredly interested himself in my studies, directed
my reading, and considered himself at liberty to find fault with
everything that did not please him. He was a little peremptory
sometimes, but I did not mind that half so much as Fred's sarcasms;
and he never distressed me as Fred did, by laughing at my large
hands, or wondering why I was not so natty in my dress as Carrie.




CHAPTER III.

DOT.


I went to my room to unpack my things, and by-and-by Carrie joined me.