Gracie was eleven, and the prettiest madcap of them all.

It was a perpetual marvel to Avery that the child managed to be so happy, for she was continually in trouble.

But she seemed to possess a cheery knack of throwing off adversity.

She was essentially gay of heart.
"Do put away those stupid old stockings and come out with us!" she begged, still hanging over Avery.

"Don't you hate darning?
I do.