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There was once a widow who had two daughters. The elder was so like her mother in temper and face, that to have seen the one was to have seen the other. They were both so disagreeable and proud, that it was impossible to live with them. The younger, who was the exact portrait of her father in her kindly and polite ways, was also as beautiful a girl as one could see. As we are naturally fond of those who resemble us, the mother doted on her elder daughter, while for the younger she had a most violent aversion, and made her take her meals in the kitchen and work hard all day. Among other things that she was obliged to do, this poor child was forced to go twice a day to fetch water from a place a mile or more from the house, and carry back a large jug filled to the brim. As she was standing one day by this spring, a poor woman came up to her, and asked the girl to give her some water to drink. “Tell me all about it.” Aunt Grenertsen was unusually disagreeable today. Not a word could he say about the apples, because he had so often before brought up that subject..

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This had a good effect on Jerry. It was as if he had found what he had told Bob in the Labyrinth he most wanted—someone to belong to, a family. He was becoming less serious, less self-contained. “I don’t know, but I am sure glad they’re here. Maybe they’ll catch those devils and then we won’t ever have any more trouble with ’em. But—listen!” The currants in Aunt Grenertsen’s garden were nothing to speak of, either. Awfully sour, small pinheads! The raspberries were small, too, but at any rate, they were sweet. “How old are you?” broke in the Admiral..