Evangeline nodded solemnly. "Out the window. I woke up feelin' one, an'
I saw it goin' across the grass. White. Slinky."
"Oh, not—slinky!" protested Miss Theodosia, suddenly championing the ghost-with-legs.
"Slinky," firmly. "I guess I'd a-screeched right out if I hadn't remembered the baby. Elly Precious is terrible hard to put to sleep second time. You aren't much acquainted with babies, are you?"
Again—so soon! Miss Theodosia's humility returned.
"We're acquainted, over to our house! Mother says babies are great edge—edge—"
"Educators?"
"That's it! Mercy gracious, then I should think Mother'd be graduated!"
After Evangeline's departure, Miss Theodosia set down her coffee cup and gave herself up to laughter. The room rang with the pleasant sound of it.
"Will you l-listen to yourself, Theodosia Baxter!" she cried at length, out of breath. "You actually sound happy!"
In the afternoon, a bevy of Miss Theodosia's old friends called on her as she sat on her front porch. They had intended, they said, to wait till the proper time, according to etiquette, for calls upon returned travelers.