“What an unusual sort of day it was! First, there was fog. And now it was beginning to get windy. Gusts of wind blew fog away in patches, revealing here a cottage and there a tree and once the peppermint-striped twins playing house as though there wasn’t any fog at all. On the way home the children stopped to pick up the mail. They felt grown-up and smart because no one had said, ‘Please pick up the mail on the way home.’ They just knew to do it.

‘Well, I’m four’ said Uncle Bennie when they had reached home and were praised for this thoughtfulness.’Brrr-‘said Mama when they came in, ‘I thought you’d never get back. I don’t like you traipsing around in the fog and the cold. One thing I hate is a cold, wet summer at the beach.’

‘Oh Mama. That’s what you always say at the least sign of a cloud. It’s not going to be a cold, wet summer at the beach. It’s going to be a nice summer’, said Rachel comfortingly. It is a nice summer already.’

Mama lighted the log fire in the fireplace.”

from Pinky Pye by Eleanor Estes