I have
changed my mind. I don't want Polly here. She would not enjoy catching
moths, or anything we do."
"She might," persisted Elnora. "You are her brother, and surely you care
for these things."
"The argument does not hold," said Philip. "Polly and I do not like the
same things when we are at home, but we are very fond of each other. The
member of my family who would go crazy about this is my father. I wish
he could come, if only for a week. I'd send for him, but he is tied up
in preparing some papers for a great corporation case this summer. He
likes the country. It was his vote that brought me here."
Philip leaned back against the arbour, watching the grosbeak as it
hunted food between a tomato vine and a day lily. Elnora set him to
making labels, and when he finished them he asked permission to write
a letter. He took no pains to conceal his page, and from where she sat
opposite him, Elnora could not look his way without reading: "My dearest
Edith." He wrote busily for a time and then sat staring across the
garden.
"Have you run out of material so quickly?" asked Elnora.
"That's about it," said Philip. "I have said that I am getting well as
rapidly as possible, that the air is fine, the folks at Uncle Doc's all
well, and entirely too good to me; that I am spending most of my time
in the country helping catch moths for a collection, which is splendid
exercise; now I can't think of another thing that will be interesting.
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