Of
that I feel sure. Hillsboro is like that. It settled itself here in a
Tennessee valley a few hundreds of years ago and has been hatching and
clucking over its own small affairs ever since. All the houses set back
from the street with their wings spread out over their gardens, and
mothers here go on hovering even to the third and fourth generation.
Lots of times young, long-legged, frying-size boys scramble out of the
nests and go off to college and decide to grow up where their crow will
be heard by the world. Alfred was one of them.
And, too, occasionally some man comes along from the big world and
marries a plump little broiler and takes her away with him, but mostly
they stay and go to hovering life on a corner of the family estate.
That's what I did.
I was a poor, little, lost chick with frivolous tendencies and they
all clucked me over into this empty Carter nest which they considered
well-feathered for me. It gave them all a sensation when they found out
from the will just how well it was feathered. And it gave me one, too.
All that money would make me nervous if Mr. Carter hadn't made Doctor
John its guardian, though I sometimes feel that the responsibility of me
makes him treat me as if he were my step-grandfather-in-law.
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