Nobody seemed to think this very remarkable, or even very interesting. Uncle Henry, indeed, noted it only to say, “Seventh-grade reading!” He turned to Aunt Abigail. “Oh, Mother, don’t you suppose she could read aloud to us evenings?”
Aunt Abigail and Cousin Ann both laid down their sewing to laugh! “Yes, yes, Father, and play checkers with you too, like as not!” They explained to Betsy: “Your Uncle Henry is just daft on being read aloud to when he’s got something to do in the evening, and when he hasn’t he’s as fidgety as a broody hen if he can’t play checkers. Ann hates checkers and I haven’t got the time, often.”
“Oh, I love to play checkers!” said Betsy.
“Well, now ...” said Uncle Henry, rising instantly and dropping his half-mended harness on the table. “Let’s have a game.”
“Oh, Father!” said Cousin Ann, in the tone she used for Shep. “How about that piece of breeching! You know that’s not safe. Why don’t you finish that up first?”
Uncle Henry sat down again, looking as Shep did when Cousin Ann told him to get up on the couch, and took up his needle and awl.
“But I could read something aloud,” said Betsy, feeling very sorry for him. “At least I think I could. I never did, except at school.”
“What shall we have, Mother?” asked Uncle Henry eagerly.
“Oh, I don’t know. What have we got in this bookcase?” said Aunt Abigail. “It’s pretty cold to go into the parlor to the other one.” She leaned forward, ran her fat fore-finger over the worn old volumes, and took out a battered, blue-covered book. “Scott?”
“Gosh, yes!” said Uncle Henry, his eyes shining. “The staggit eve!”