I laughed and said, “No, I never take anything fried.”
Then we all laughed together, and so got acquainted very pleasantly; for I have observed that a little ripple of fun sets people nearer together than a whole ocean of calm conversation.
After supper Uncle Jacob read the paper aloud, while the girls washed up the dishes. All were eager to hear; and I found they kept the run of affairs quite as well as townspeople. When there was too much rattling of dishes for Uncle Jacob to be heard, and the girls lost some important item, he was always willing to read it over. Little Tommy was rolled up in a shawl and set down in the rocking-chair (that cushion did come out of it) while his mother mended his clothes. This was the way he usually got punished for tearing them. He was done up in a shawl, arms and all, and kept in the rocking-chair while the clothes were being mended, and he was obliged to remain pretty quiet, or the chair would tip. Aunt Phebe said Tommy was so careless, something must be done, and keeping him still was the worst punishment he could have.
When the girls finished their dishes and took out their sewing, and were going to light the large lamp, their mother said that we mustn’t think of settling ourselves for the evening. She said we must all go in to grandmother’s, for she’d be dreadful lonely, missing Billy so.
Then Aunt Phebe told me how her nephew, Billy, a ten-year old boy, had gone away to school only the day before, and how they all missed him.
“Isn’t he pretty young to go away to school?” I asked.
“That’s what I told his father,” said she.
“His father sent him away to keep him,” said Uncle Jacob. “Grandmother was spoiling him.”
“Ruining the boy with kindness?” said Lucy Maria.
“Well,” said Aunt Phebe, “I suppose ’t was so. I know ’t was so. But we did hate to have Billy go!”