“Rubbers, Martha,” said Miss Priscilla.
Martha obediently brought four large rubber overshoes, and in a few moments the two aunts were following old Matthew in search of their wayward and erratic niece.
The party paused under the apple-tree which Matthew had designated. But though the old ladies peered anxiously up into the tree, they could see nothing but leaves.
“Lavinia,” called Miss Priscilla, in a calm, dignified voice.
No answer.
“Lavinia,” she called again, and still no sound came from the apple-tree.
Then Miss Priscilla Flint, moved by the exigencies of the occasion, made what was perhaps the greatest effort of her long and uneventful life.
“Ladybird,” she called, more graciously; and a little voice piped down from the tree-top:
“What is it, aunty?”
Like the larger proportion of human nature, Miss Priscilla, having gained her point, returned to her former mental attitude.