Once upon a time there was a nice family. Its name was Avory, and itlived in an old house in Chiswick, where the Thames is so sad on greydays and so gay on sunny ones.
Mr.—or rather Captain—Avory was dead; he had been wounded at SpionKop, and died a few years after. Mrs. Avory was thirty-five, and shehad four children. The eldest was Janet, aged fourteen, and theyoungest was Gregory Bruce, aged seven. Between these came RobertOliver, who was thirteen, and Hester, who was nine.
They were all very fond of each other, and they rarely quarreled. (Ifthey had done so, I should not be telling this story. You don't catchme writing books about people who quarrel.) They adored their mother.
The name of the Avories' house was "The Gables," which was a bettername than many houses have, because there actually were gables in itsroof. Hester, who had funny ideas, wanted to see all the people wholived in all the houses that are called "The Gables" everywhere drawnup in a row so that she might examine them. She used to lie awake atnight and wonder how many there would be. "I'm sure mother would be themost beautiful, anyway," she used to say.
History was Hester's passion. She could read history all day. Here shediffered from Robert Oliver, who was all for