"WHAT EYES HAVE YOU?"
The late azure twilights and early salmon dawns of June merged into July with no more ado than a changed date line on the Colonel's morning paper. Days were of little concern at Arden, other than being days—as the library calendar now gave accusing evidence by pointing at the previous May. Miss Liz, to be sure, was invariably aware when Sundays came; being told by that unnamable pressure of peace which to most women would proclaim the Sabbath even in places of utter solitude. Otherwise, the weeks might be composed of Mondays or Fridays, since school had been out.
Jane, this particular morning playing with Bip and Mac somewhat apart from the Colonel and Brent who were engrossed in a game of chess, had been critically alive to the Sunday habits of these two families which had come to mean so much to her; especially in relation to the little boy. Miss Liz not only supported her, but freely expressed her indignation at the child's parental indifference, and that good lady's tone was one of deepest injury whenever the subject was mentioned. For she had indeed tried to awaken Bip's spiritual mind two days after he was born, by sending him an embroidered bib with a baby blue motto: "I thank the Lord for what I eat—Soup and mush and bread and meat!" If he grew into an ungrateful man, she, at least, had done her duty! Bob paid small attention to matters of church, and Ann had easily acquired the negative enthusiasm of her father who frankly admitted he could not keep from going to sleep, even during the best of sermons. Yet, although he lived by this benighted declaration, he was known as a Christian gentleman—of the kind whose hands were never so tightly clasped in prayer that they could not reach his pocket.
Jane now looked up as, with a delighted laugh, the Colonel leaned back; while Brent, in pretended irritation, mussed the chess men in disorder over the board.
"Fifteen moves, sir!" the old gentleman cried. "That's a beat you'll not forget!"
"It's the worst I ever had," Brent admitted. "You can't do it again!"
"I'll bet you I can, sir," the old gentleman declared, then whispering, "after a julep!"
"Whew!" Brent gave a long, clear, incredulous whistle, and called over to Jane: "Did you hear this boaster?"
But the whistle had a more subtle intention than emphasis, and within doors Uncle Zack, dozing in a kitchen chair, became at once active. This newly inaugurated signal immeasurably pleased the Colonel, who could not himself whistle.
"Do either of you know it's Sunday?" she asked.