The four Corners in camp

The four Corners were occupying the four corners of the room. This may seem a rather peculiar statement until you realize that the first four Corners were called Nan, Mary Lee, Jack and Jean. Nan, the eldest, was bent over a table by the window in the west corner, Mary Lee was standing before the mirror in the east corner, Jack was sprawled out on the rug in the north corner, and Jean was in the south corner doing nothing in particular and looking abstractedly into space.

The last mentioned was the first to make a remark. “I think Washington is the most beautiful city in the world,” she said moving over to the window and gazing out at the avenue of trees which were fast turning to sunny yellow and brilliant green.

“Not lovelier than München, dear little München,” responded Nan.

“Nor prettier than Paris,” put in Jack.

“Well, I am not sure myself but Jean is right,” Mary Lee asserted. “If it isn’t already the loveliest city it soon will be. Of course it isn’t quite as symmetrical as it might be, and all the funny little frame houses stuck in between stately mansions make it still look as if it wasn’t finished, but time will mend that.”

“It is like a country girl who comes to town wearing shabby gloves and shoes with a nice tailor-made gown,” Nan suggested. “Of course, after a while, when she has lived long enough, she will be quite finished in her dress, but now she still shows that she is young and a little provincial.”

“What a way to put it, Nan,” said Mary Lee.

“It is the way it impresses me,” returned her sister. “Didn’t you notice how raggety and taggety everything looked over here in our own country after Europe? How the fences and stretches of unkempt lots seemed so incomplete, and the poorer houses seemed little and mean instead of being picturesque, and how such things had a tumble-down raw sort of look? Of course I don’t say it will always be so, and in a short hundred years we shall be quite a sumptuous-appearing country, but as yet though we may be important looking we are not very picturesque. Think of those old, old palaces in Venice. Think of those castles along the Rhine, and all the ancient buildings that show history in every feature. Yes, I must say that though we look prosperous we also look painfully new.”

Mary Lee laughed. “You talk like a lecturer,” she said. “Well, at any rate if we are modern we are mighty comfortable, and that suits me.”

“And we do have better things to eat here than we get anywhere else,” put in Jean.

“Bound for you to discover that,” laughed Nan.

“At all events,” Mary Lee went on, “I’m glad to be back again, and I think we have been mighty comfortable and have had a jolly good time this past winter. I’m not kicking, as Carter says.”

“Oh, dear me, neither am I,” replied Nan. “I was only comparing, that was all. I am an American, stars and stripes, spread eagle, Hail Columbia American, if you will have it, though of course I do want to go back to Europe some day, but I don’t want to live anywhere but in this blessed old stuck-up country of ours, and south of Mason and Dixon’s line at that. ‘I’ll live and die for Dixie.’”

“I am glad Washington is south of Mason and Dixon’s line,” remarked Mary Lee with satisfaction. “It certainly was good of Maryland to hand over a piece of herself to make the District of Columbia for the seat of government.”

“Maryland has been a pretty good state anyhow,” Nan rejoined; “she stuck out, wouldn’t give in on that matter of the Western territory and she did a lot in all the wars. I am willing to concede a great deal to her though I stand up for Virginia first and foremost.”

“I should say so,” returned Mary Lee emphatically. “Well, I suppose we shall soon be leaving Washington. Have you heard mother or Aunt Helen say any more about the summer plans? It is time we were hearing from Jo and Danny. Wouldn’t it be nice if they could spend a few days with us in Portland before we branch off to wherever we are going?”

“It would be nice, for a fact. No, I haven’t heard a word about any plans; the only conclusion reached seems to be that we are to go to Portland and from there bring up somewhere. Mother thinks the seashore will not do for her, so I suppose it will be the mountains, or at least somewhere inland; they don’t seem to know exactly.”

“I haven’t a doubt but Danny would join us. Her uncle is so pleased with her progress that he allows her almost anything she asks. I suppose one reason is because she never asks unreasonable things, and is so sweet about giving up when he wants her to. Jo would give anything to be with us, too, I know. Her last letter was a perfect wail; she is so afraid we will not stop in Boston, or will not get there before her school closes. She hasn’t yet recovered from our going to school in Washington instead of returning to the Wadsworth.”

“Oh, but dear me, it has been much better here. We have been able to live at home in this pleasant apartment, and mother has enjoyed it so much; it would have been folly to go back to the Wadsworth.”

“I think so, too,” said Jean coming into the conversation. “I did hate those Saturday night baked beans and never any of our own kinds of hot bread.”

The others laughed. “You certainly are a P. I. G., Jean,” said Nan, then, as Jean put on an injured look, “I mean a perfectly irresistible girl.”

“You didn’t mean that at all,” retorted Jean.

“I think they set a fairly good table at the Wadsworth,” Mary Lee asserted, “still nothing can ever come to one’s own home doings, of course.”

“These home doings were Aunt Helen’s doings,” Nan stated. “She wasn’t satisfied till she had made hundreds of inquiries and had seen dozens and dozens of apartments.”

“It is funny how things turn out,” Mary Lee took up the thread again. “I suppose if we hadn’t met Miss Cameron when we were going to Spain we should never have come to Washington at all this year.”

“I am not so sure of that. I think Aunt Helen had her heart set on it some time ago; she has so many friends here, though we might not have gone to Miss Cameron’s school.”

“The thing I want to know,” said Jack, suddenly rousing herself from an absorbed attention to things out-of-doors, “is what are we going to do between now and the day we start for the North?”

“There are lots of things to do,” Nan told her.

“I think a good way would be to pick out what each one wants most to see,” said Jack; “the way we did in England, you know.”

“Well and good,” returned Nan. “Fire ahead, Jack, you lean damsel.”

“I’m not as lean as you are,” retorted Jack, “and I’d be as fat as Jean if I ate as much.”

“Why, my dear,” said Nan in pretended surprise, “I said Jacqueline, damsel.”

“You didn’t mean it that way at all; you just said the other to make fun of me,” insisted Jack.

“Prove it,” returned Nan good-naturedly.

“Yes, you did,” Jean came to the rescue of her twin, “just like you called me a P. I. G. a while ago.”

“You’re such suspicious creatures,” responded Nan. “Let’s change the subject. Go on, Jack, what do you want most to see?”

“I want to go up the monument, or the dome of the Capitol once more,” she decided.

“Now, isn’t that like you? Nothing short of an aeroplane will ever satisfy you eventually, Jack. When you get to heaven you will wear out your wings before they are full fledged. What is your choice, Jean?”

“Oh, the Zoo, of course. There are some new animals there I want to see. You know I’m crite crazy to go there without crestioning.”

“I know you are crite craulified to be craurrelsome to-day, and that I am in a craundary myself.”