it are the interesting part.To begin with, there's Louis. His whole name is Louis Charles Durant. He
is seventeen and goes to high school in Bridgeton with us. We have known
him all our lives, and he's the nicest, jolliest boy we know. But the
people he lives with I've never understood at all, and if there were any
romance or mystery about any one around here, it would be about them.Come to think of it, they _are_ mysterious. Carol has always said so, but
I never thought much about it. And that only goes to show that Miss
Cullingford is right. Keeping a journal does certainly make you go about
with your eyes open wider and gives you an interest in things you never
thought worth while before. I never thought or cared a bit about Louis's
folks before, and now I see they're full of possibilities.November 24. Fell asleep again last night while I was writing. I guess
it's because there's nothing very exciting to write about. However, I'll
go on from where I left off about Louis's folks. First, there's the old
man. Louis's father and mother have been dead a number of years. I never
remember seeing either of them. So he lives with this old man, who, they
say, is his guardian. His name is John Meadows, or at least that is what
he is always called around here. But Louis says that he is French, and
that his real name is Jean Mettot. He is very old; he must be eighty at
least. And he is very feeble now, too. He sits all day long in a great
armchair by the parlor window. He never reads anything but the papers
and some great, heavy volumes of French history, but he spends a great
deal of time thinking and dreaming, while he looks way off over the
meadows toward the river.Then there's his daughter, Miss Meadows. She's about forty or fifty
years old, I should think. Louis says her name is Yvonne. Certainly,
that's a fascinating French name. She's very dark and handsome and quick
in her ways, but she's very, very quiet and silent. I never had a _real_
conversation with her in my life, though I've talked to her a great
many times. I do all the talking, and she nods or smiles or says "Yes"
and "No," and that is absolutely all. I feel as if I'd never really
_know_ her, if I talked to her a hundred years. They have one servant, a
big French peasant from Normandy, who cooks the meals and takes care of
the garden and house.All this doesn't sound very strange, however. And there _is_ something
very mysterious about them,--at least, so Carol has always said. I never
paid much attention to the thing before, or noticed it. The curious part
of it all is the way they treat Louis. He isn't any real relative, so he
says. His parents and their parents have just been dear friends from a
long way back. It's plain that they think the world of him, too, just as

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