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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Oh, how nice!" exclaimed Bessie, who was still in her eighth year. "Shall we live with Aunt Emma again?" "Yes, or rather she will live with us," said her mother, smiling. "Your auntie's health is very poor, and she is tired of the responsibility of farming; so we'll relieve her." The following weeks were happy ones for Bessie. The Lord had been good to her in many ways.
Joy caught it before they could stop her, opened it, read it,—dropped it slowly. It was a telegram from Yorkbury:— "Boston papers say Joy's father died in France two weeks ago." They were all together in the parlor at Yorkbury—Joy very still, with her head in her auntie's lap.
They were just discussing the impossibility of getting to Sandgale that evening when Tom came into the room. "Where is mother?" he asked. "She has kept her cab at the door at least ten minutes; I had to give the fellow an extra sixpence." "That wasn't auntie's cab," said Erica, "she came home half an hour ago; it was Rose's cab. I hope you didn't send away her boxes?"
She listened a great deal; everyone was willing to talk, and she was often amused at the very slight knowledge that could carry a society girl through a conversation. In Hunter, Baxter & Hunter's offices there would be instant challenges, even at auntie's table affectation met its just punishment, and inaccuracy was promptly detected. But there was no such censorship here.
Jones she's gone to telephone to him now says that he came home this morning with one of those dreadful 'attacks' of his. And after dinner he seemed so sick that, when she went for the doctor, she wired me at Auntie's to come home. I didn't want to come you know why but I COULDN'T let him die alone. And so I caught the three o'clock train and came. I knew you'd forgive me.
It's a fact, but I said to myself, 'Old fellow, what's the matter with your knees? I made up my mind to win her if I could, but she kept me cowed, not by what she said, for she didn't say much, but by what she looked. Auntie's husband's preaching knocks anything I ever heard that is, I hear it does, for he hasn't preached for us yet.
"Now," said she, putting the raisins in Prudy's apron, "I want you to go out of doors and keep very still." "Why do you cry so, my dearest auntie in the world?" said Prudy, climbing into a chair, and throwing her arms around her auntie's neck, while the raisins dropped to the floor; "is Mr. 'Gustus Allen dead?"
She penciled a little list for Billy to carry to the drugstore, she made Miss Foster's bed in the room adjoining Auntie's, she hunted up the fresh nightgown that was slipped over her aunt's head, put the room in order; hanging up the limp garments with a strange sense that it would be long before Auntie's hand touched them again.
"She isn't a little girl, she's a young lady," said Master Phil, putting on his lordly air, "and she's to come into the parlour and have some supper with me, and then some one must take her home to her auntie's house that's what I say." More to please Phil than from any wish for "supper," for she was really in a fidget to get home, Griselda let the little boy lead her into the parlour.
She burst into tears. He tried to soothe and comfort her, but in struggling not to cry she only sobbed the worse. At last, however, she succeeded in faltering out an explanation. "Auntie's been tellin me that I maun luik to my hert, so as no to tyne't to ye a'thegither! But it's awa a'ready," she went on, with a fresh outburst, "and it's no manner o' use cryin til't to come back to me.
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