We Girls: a Home Story

The town is down below the hill. It lies in the hollow, and stretches on till it runs against another hill, over opposite; up which it goes a little way before it can stop itself, just as it does on this side. It is no matter for the name of the town. It is a good, large country town, in fact, it has some time since come under city regulations, thinking sufficiently well of itself, and, for that which it lacks, only twenty miles from the metropolis. Up our hill straggle the more ambitious houses, that have shaken off the dust from their feet, or their foundations, and surrounded themselves with green grass, and are shaded with trees, and are called "places". There are the Marchbanks places, and the "Haddens", and the old Pennington place. At these houses they dine at five o'clock, when the great city bankers and merchants come home in the afternoon train; down in the town, where people keep shops, or doctors' or lawyers' offices, or manage the Bank, and where the manufactories are, they eat at one, and have long afternoons; and the schools keep twice a day. We lived in the town that is, Mr. and Mrs. Holabird did, and their children, for such length of the time as their ages allowed for nineteen years; and then we moved to Westover, and this story began.