"But if he only has the tune and not the words," Josie objected, "what use will that be?"
"The spirit of the words is in the tune," Pauline said. "No one could whistle or sing it and stay grumpy."
"They'd have to 'put the frown away awhile, and try a little sunny smile,' wouldn't they?" Patience observed.
Patience had been a model of behavior all the evening. Mother would be sure to ask if she had been good, when they got home. That was one of those aggravating questions that only time could relieve her from. No one ever asked Paul, or Hilary, that—when they'd been anywhere.
As Mr. Dayre had promised, the party broke up early, going off in the various rigs they had come in. Tom and Josie went in the trap with the Shaws. "It's been perfectly lovely—all of it," Josie said, looking back along the road they were leaving. "Every good time we have seems the best one yet."
"You wait 'til my turn comes," Pauline told her. "I've such a scheme in my head."
"Am I in it?" Patience begged. She was in front, between Tom, who was driving, and Hilary, then she leaned forward, they were nearly home, and the lights of the parsonage showed through the trees. "There's a light in the parlor—there's company!"
Pauline looked, too. "And one up in our old room, Hilary. Goodness, it must be a visiting minister! I didn't know father was expecting anyone."
"I bet you!" Patience jumped excitedly up and down. "I just bet it isn't any visiting minister—but a visiting—uncle! I feel it in my bones, as Miranda says."
"Nonsense!" Pauline declared.