I can't tell you how fine it seems to me!"
"There's nothing fine about it," Julia said simply. "It's just that I
like that sort of people as well as I do--Jim's sort. I used to think
that to work my way into a world where everything was fine and fragrant
and costly would mean to be happy, but of course it doesn't, and I've
come more and more to feel that I like the class where joys are real,
and sorrows are real, and the goodness means more, and there's more
excuse for the badness!"
"Did you ever think of writing, Julia?" Miss Toland asked. "Stories, I
mean?"
"Everybody does nowadays, I suppose," Julia laughed. "Sometimes I think
what good material The Alexander stuff would be, Aunt Sanna. But the
truth is, Jim doesn't like the idea."
"Doesn't? Bless us all, why not?"
"Oh!" Julia dimpled demurely. "The great Mrs. Studdiford writing, like a
mere ordinary person?" she asked.
"Oh, that's it? Where is Jim, by the way?"
"Sacramento. But the operation was on Sunday, so he should have been
here yesterday, at latest," Julia said. "However, he'll rush in to-night
or to-morrow; he knows you're all going to be here.
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