This awful outlook grieved Dolly’s tender heart, and she flew to the old lady and clasped her hand, while she said:
“I’m so sorry, Aunt Nine! I didn’t know you had nerves, and I thought you’d be ’mused to see Lady Eliza sitting there. I don’t know how we happened to give her the carving knife. But we ’most always put something in her hand. I wish we’d thought of a fan! That would have been pretty, and it wouldn’t have hurt your nervousness,—would it?”
“Perhaps not,” said Aunt Penninah, grimly, but she couldn’t help smiling at pretty little Dolly, who was caressing her be-ringed old hand, and looking imploringly up into her face.
Then she turned to Dick.
“And how about you, sir?” she said. “Did you think it amusing to threaten a guest with a carving-knife?”
Dick came over and looked at her with his straightforward eyes.
“I didn’t mean to threaten you, of course,” he said. “But it was naughty, and I’m sorry,—we’re both sorry,—and can we do anything to make you forgive us?”
“No, you can’t,” said Aunt Penninah, “but when you look at me like that,—with your father’s very eyes,—there is no question of forgiveness. You’re all Dana—both of you!”
And then the strange old lady kissed both the twins and peace was restored all around.
Dinner went on smoothly. Miss Abbie and Miss Rachel were secretly impatient, because there was much yet to be done before the Reading Circle came, but Miss Penninah’s presence admitted of no scanting of ceremony.