Veronica was an elfish creature, nine years old, diminutive and pale.  Her long, silky brown hair, which was as straight as an Indian’s, like mother’s, and which she tore out when angry, usually covered her face, and her wild eyes looked wilder still peeping through it.  She was too strange-looking for ordinary people to call her pretty, and so odd in her behavior, so full of tricks, that I did not love her.  She was a silent child, and liked to be alone.  But whoever had the charge of her must be watchful.  She tasted everything, and burnt everything, within her reach.  A blazing fire was too strong a temptation to be resisted.  The disappearance of all loose articles was ascribed to her; but nothing was said about it, for punishment made her more impish and daring in her pursuits.  She had a habit of frightening us by hiding, and appearing from places where no one had thought of looking for her.  People shook their heads when they observed her.  The Morgesons smiled significantly when she was spoken of, and asked: 

“Do you think she is like her mother?”

There was a conflict in mother’s mind respecting Veronica.  She did not love her as she loved me; but strove the harder to fulfill her duty.  When Verry suffered long and mysterious illnesses, which made her helpless for weeks, she watched her day and night, but rarely caressed her.  At other times Verry was left pretty much to herself and her ways, which were so separate from mine that I scarcely saw her.  We grew up ignorant of each other’s character, though Verry knew me better than I knew her; in time I discovered that she had closely observed me, when I was most unaware.

We began to prosper about this time.

“Old Locke Morgeson had a long head,” people said, when they talked of our affairs.  Father profited by his grandfather’s plans, and his means, too; less visionary, he had modified and brought out practically many of his projections.  Old Locke had left little to his son John Morgeson, in the belief that father was the man to carry out his ideas.  Besides money, he left him a tract of ground running north and south, a few rods beyond the old house, and desired him to build upon it.  This he was now doing, and we expected to move into our new house before autumn.

All the Morgesons wished to put money in a company, as soon as father could prove that it would be profitable.  They were ready to own shares in the ships which he expected to build, when it was certain that they would make lucky voyages.  He declined their offers, but they all “knuckled” to the man who had been bold enough to break the life-long stagnation of Surrey, and approved his plans as they matured.  His mind was filled with the hope of creating a great business which should improve Surrey.  New streets had been cut through his property and that of grandfather, who, narrow as he was, could not resist the popular spirit; lots had been laid out, and cottages had gone up upon them.  To matters of minor importance father gave little heed; his domestic life was fast becoming a habit.  The constant enlargement of his schemes was already a necessary stimulant.