"Honey, you wouldn't—you shore wouldn't do anything to—to disbobulate your aunt's plans?"
"May I have another piece of pie, Sarah, please?"
Sarah cast a pair of imploring eyes ceilingwards. "Of all the ignoringest young uns! I isn't discoursing 'bout pie, Miss P'tricia."
"But it's mighty good pie, Sarah! Will there be cherry pie among the refreshments this afternoon?"
"Miss P'tricia! And the cherry juice all a dripping down, like's not, on you-uns clean white dresses," Sarah protested. However, she brought Patricia a second piece, which was the important thing at the moment; the future might very well be allowed to take care of itself.
Later, as she did up her dinner work, Sarah cast more than one anxious glance out of the window to where Patricia lay on the back lawn, under the shade of the big cherry tree. Patricia's very quietness was alarming.
Was it too much cherry pie? Or was she plotting something.
"Honey," Sarah came out on the piazza, "it's getting time for you to get dressed for the festiv'ties."
Patricia, tickling one of Custard's long ears with a blade of grass, smiled serenely. "But I am dressed, Sarah."
Sarah sat down heavily on the piazza bench; "I knowed it! I jest 'spicioned you-un was shore up to something!"