Florence Wilford

Holiday Tales Florence Wilford

AMMA, there's such a fine poem here about "seven lovely Campbells" whose father's name was Archibald; it must mean us, -don't you think so?' And a very pretty boy about ten years of age, who had been poring for some time over Wordsworth's Poems, lifted his roguish face to his mother's with a look of pretended conviction. 'Not exactly, Willie, seeing that the poem begins, "Seven daughters had Lord Archibald!"' 'Ah, mamma, you are not to be caught. I do believe you have read everything that ever was written! But now, mamma, which would you rather have-seven daughters or seven sons?' 'I would rather have just what I've got, Willie.' 'Seven sons, then. Oh! mamma, I'm glad you said that; and you know we shall be of much more use to you than a lot of girls. Why, if the French were to come, you needn't be a bit afraid, with all of us to defend you.' 'Baby at the head, armed cap-à-pie, I suppose, ' smiled the mother, dancing in her arms her youngest son, a little fellow of about two years old; but she soon set him down in her lap again, for she had been ill, and was still so weak that the least effort tired her.