“To New York?” Mrs. Merideth sat up suddenly, her face alight. “Oh, that will be fine—lovely! Why didn’t you tell us? Poor dear, you’ll need a rest all right, I’m thinking, and we’ll keep you just as long as we can, too.” With lightning rapidity Mrs. Merideth had changed their plans—in her mind. They would go to New York, not Egypt. Egypt had seemed desirable, but if Margaret was going to New York, that altered the case.
“Oh, but I thought you weren’t going to New York,” laughed Margaret. “Besides—I’m going with Patty.”
“With Patty!” If it had not been tragical it would have been comical—Mrs. Merideth’s shocked recoil at the girl’s words.
“Yes. After we get everything nicely to running—we shall have teachers to help us, you know—Patty and I are going to New York to see if we can’t find her sisters, Arabella and Clarabella.”
“What absurd names!” Mrs. Merideth spoke sharply. In reality she had no interest whether they were, or were not absurd; but they chanced at the moment to be a convenient scapegoat for her anger and discomfiture.
“Patty doesn’t think them absurd,” laughed Margaret. “She would tell you that she named them herself out of a ‘piece of a book’ she found in the ash barrel long ago when they were children. You should hear Patty say it really to appreciate it. She used to preface it by some such remark as: ‘Names ain’t like measles an’ relations, ye know. Ye don’t have ter have ’em if ye don’t want ’em—you can change ’em.’”
“Ugh!” shuddered Mrs. Merideth. “Margaret, how can you—laugh!”
“Why, it’s funny, I think,” laughed Margaret again, as she turned away.
Even the most urgent entreaties on the part of Margaret failed to start the Spencers on their trip, and not until she finally threatened to make the first move herself and go down to the town, did they consent to go.
“But that absurd house of yours isn’t ready yet,” protested Mrs. Merideth.