Quiet was soon restored and Ethel came down with the lantern. I put away the poker which I had been holding ever since I picked it up.
“It’s the greatest mercy in the world that the lamp went out. She knocked it over when the bat hit her.”
“What next? Is the room moth miller proof? Could she survive a June bug?”
“Well, really, it’s nothing to laugh at. If you ever have a bat in your back hair you’ll not think of laughing.”
As my back hair is fast going to join the snows of yesteryear, I considered this a most unkind cut, but I was above retaliating—as I could not think of anything to say.
“Well, Minerva has now been here a whole day and she’s hardly been out of our sight. I admit that she is an excellent cook and a hard worker, but as a steady visitor who, rides with us and sews with us she is likely to pall. Hasn’t she a mother who can come and visit her?”
“No,” Ethel answered, “Minerva is an only child.”
“And a child only,” said I.