She told of it,
downstairs, and there was a great laugh. "I don't know when I have
taken such a fancy to a boy," uncle Frank said warmly. "He is so good,
and yet he's smart enough, too."
"Everybody takes to him," his grandmother said proudly.
In a day or two Willy wrote a letter to his mother, and told her he
was having the best time that he ever had in his life.
Willy was only seven years old and had never written many letters, but
this was a very good one. His mother away down in Ashbury thought so.
She shed a few tears over it. "It does seem as if I couldn't get along
another day without seeing him," she told Willy's father; "but I'm
glad if it is doing the dear child good, and he is enjoying it."
One reason why Willy had been taken upon the trip was his health. He
had always been considered rather delicate. It did seem as if he had
every chance to grow stronger in Exeter. The air was cool and bracing
from the mountains; aunt Annie had the best things in the world to
eat, and as he had said, he was really having a splendid time. He
rode about with uncle Frank in the grocery wagon, he tended store,
he fished, and went berrying. There were only two drawbacks to his
perfect comfort. One came from his shoes. Grandpa Perry had found an
old pair in the store, and he wore them on his fishing and berrying
jaunts; but they were much too large and they slipped and hurt his
heels.
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