“Why, when did you come?” questioned Prue, abruptly, staring at her aunt as if that lady had been an apparition instead of a very tangible reality.
“I came last night, after you children was in bed,” said Aunt Prudence, “and I guess your father was ’bout as s’prised as you be.”
“Wal’, I guess I was,” said Mr. Weston. “Ye was the last person I expected to see when I stopped near the depot to talk with neighbor Gray, but I was jest as glad to see ye as ef ye’d sent word ye was comin’.”
Mrs. Weston also hastened to assure her that her unexpected arrival was a pleasant surprise, but the children could not say a word. Prue was filled with a dread of Aunt Prudence’s sharp eyes, which would be sure to detect any sign of plotted mischief; and Randy, knowing Prue’s intense dislike of supervision, realized that careful watching, amounting almost to strategy, would be necessary to keep the little girl from vexing Aunt Prudence, thereby actually showing her how intensely she disliked her.
Although the morning hours were fully occupied, Randy was aware of a subtle sense of change in Aunt Prudence. She looked as angular and austere as before, but her voice seemed less shrill, and her sharp eyes behind her glasses looked out with a softened light.
“Perhaps we didn’t really know her before,” said Randy to Prue.
“P’r’aps maybe we didn’t,” answered Prue. “She calls me Prudence same’s she did before, but she says it diffe’nt.”
“That’s it,” said Randy, “her voice is pleasanter.”
“And her eyes isn’t always looking at me, so I don’t darest to move,” said Prue.
Randy turned away quickly, that Prue need not see her laughing. The idea that any one could prevent her little sister from indulging in almost perpetual motion, seemed utterly funny to her.