As the St. Clairs were going to a matinée, they left immediately after luncheon, and Patty drew a little sigh of relief after their departure.
“I like Aunt Isabel least of any of my aunts, papa,” she said.
“I don’t blame you much, my child; Isabel is kind-hearted, but she is a worldly woman, and exceedingly superficial. Your Aunt Alice is worth a dozen of her.”
“Yes,” said Patty, “and Aunt Grace is worth half-a-dozen, and Aunt Hester is worth three or four, anyway.”
“But she is your aunt, Patty,” said Grandma Elliott, gently; “you must remember that, and consequently you owe her respect and deference.”
“All right, Grandma; I’ll pay her all the respect and deference she wants; but I do hate to have her bothering around when we want to get settled to our housekeeping. But now they’ve gone, and I can have a good long afternoon to straighten things out.”
“All right, Puss,” said her father, “and I’m going out now, on some errands, and if you tuck Grandma away for a little nap, which I’m quite sure she needs, you can have an uninterrupted hour all to yourself.”
“Beautiful!” cried Patty; “then I can fix all my books just as I want them, and arrange my tea table and bureau-drawers and everything. And you’ll bring me home a box of candy, won’t you, so we can have a lovely cosey time this evening?”
“In the bright lexicon of your youth, a cosey time seems to mean a box of candy and a new book.”
“Yes,” said Patty; “I’m sure I don’t know anything cosier. Now run along, and come back early, and don’t forget the candy.”