“Isn’t she good!”
“The kindest of gentlewomen—your Aunt Harriet.”
“My Aunt Harriet!” Susie said it to herself rapturously.
“She hasn’t much in her life now—she’s lonely, too—and if you can be spoiled, Susie, you soon will be well on the way—between Aunt Harriet and me.” He stroked her hair fondly.
“And I’m to go to school back there and live with her. I can’t believe it yet!” Susie declared. “So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours that I don’t know what to think about first. More things have happened in this little time than in all my life put together.”
“That’s the way life seems to be,” McArthur said musingly—“a few hours at a tension, and long, dull stretches in between.”
“Does she know—does Aunt Harriet know—how green I am?”
McArthur laughed at her anxiety.
“I am sure,” he replied reassuringly, “that she isn’t expecting a young lady of fashion.”
“Oh, I’ve got clothes,” said Susie. “Mother made me a dress that will be just the thing to wear in that—what do you call it?—train. She made it out of two shawls that she bought at the Agency.”