“Tut, tut!—I know you'll be willing to be thrown as a little bit of a sop to the Greggorys' pride,” coaxed Billy. “You just wait till I get the Overflow Annex in running order. Why, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how busy you're going to be handing out all that extra happiness that I can't use!”
“You dear child!” Aunt Hannah smiled mistily. The black shawl had fallen unheeded to the floor now. “As if anybody ever had any more happiness than one's self could use!”
“I have,” avowed Billy, promptly, “and it's going to keep growing and growing, I know.”
“Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, don't!” exclaimed Aunt Hannah, lifting shocked hands of remonstrance. “Rap on wood—do! How can you boast like that?”
Billy dimpled roguishly and sprang to her feet.
“Why, Aunt Hannah, I'm ashamed of you! To be superstitious like that—you, a good Presbyterian!”
Aunt Hannah subsided shamefacedly.
“Yes, I know, Billy, it is silly; but I just can't help it.”
“Oh, but it's worse than silly, Aunt Hannah,” teased Billy, with a remorseless chuckle. “It's really heathen! Bertram told me once that it dates 'way back to the time of the Druids—appealing to the god of trees, or something like that—when you rap on wood, you know.”
“Ugh!” shuddered Aunt Hannah. “As if I would, Billy! How is Bertram, by the by?”