I know we were in beautiful regions that summer; but
my recollection is not of them but of rows of figures. And of
a very grave, I think dull, and very quiet little personage,
who went about like a mouse, for silentness, and gave no
trouble to anybody, excepting only to herself.
The next winter passed as the winter before had done; only I
had no Christmas entertainment. My father and mother were in
Egypt; perhaps he did not think of it. Perhaps he did not feel
that he could afford it. Perhaps my aunt and the overseer had
severally made representations to which my father thought it
best to listen. I had no festivities at any rate for my poor
coloured people; and it made my own holidays a very shaded
thing.
I found, however, this winter one source of amusement, and in
a measure, of comfort. In the bookcases which held my
grandfather's library, there was a pretty large collection of
books of travel. I wanted to know just then about Egypt, that
I might the better in imagination follow my father and mother.
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