I was sure Cecily was not uninteresting, but her chroniclers were.

We used to wade through the long, thin sheets and saw how much more satisfactory it would be when Cecily could write to us herself.

Meanwhile we noted her weekly progress with much the feeling one would have about a far-away little bit of property that was giving no trouble and coming on exceedingly well.

We would take possession of Cecily at our convenience; till then, it was gratifying to hear of our unearned increment in dear little dimples and sweet little curls.
She was nearly four when I saw her again.

We were home on three months' leave; John had just got his first brevet for doing something which he does not allow me to talk about in the Black Mountain country; and we were fearfully pleased with ourselves.