Our Philadelphia . by his motherless children, solved theproblem the existence of my Sister and myself was to himby putting us where he knew we were safe and well out ofhis way. I do not blame him. What is a man to do whenhe finds himself with two little girls on his clumsy mascu-line hands? But the result was he had no house of hisown to bring us to when the other girls hurried joyfullyhome at Christmas and Easter and for the long summerholiday. It hurt as I used to watch them walking brisklydown the long path on the way to the station. And yet,I scored in the end, for Philadelphia was the mo
Our Philadelphia . by his motherless children, solved theproblem the existence of my Sister and myself was to himby putting us where he knew we were safe and well out ofhis way. I do not blame him. What is a man to do whenhe finds himself with two little girls on his clumsy mascu-line hands? But the result was he had no house of hisown to bring us to when the other girls hurried joyfullyhome at Christmas and Easter and for the long summerholiday. It hurt as I used to watch them walking brisklydown the long path on the way to the station. And yet,I scored in the end, for Philadelphia was the more marvel-lous to me, visiting it rarely, than it could have been tochildren to whom it was an everyday affair. For years my Grandfathers house was the scene ofthe occasional visit. He lived in Spruce Street aboveEleventh—the typical Philadelphia Street, straight andnarrow, on either side rows of red brick houses, each withwhite marble steps, white shutters below and green j,^-^ ??^:, jr,. ^U^^ --^«ss 1*^. ^.
Size: 1324px × 1887px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, booksubjectlithographyamerican
