“Not at all, Aunt Zillah,” answered Annie Laurie hotly. “I’ve never had a girl to stay all night—never. I asked Azalea because it was raining. I couldn’t tell it was going to rain, or that I was going to ask her. I’m old enough now to use some sense, I hope, and I want it so that I can act without first having a period of fasting and prayer. You and Aunt Adnah were late to-night—”
“My dear, it is the first time we have been late to our duties, so far as I can remember, since we assumed them.”
“Oh, you don’t understand at all. I’m glad you were late. Why shouldn’t you be, if you wished? And your duties—why do you speak of what you do in the house like that? It’s not a duty to live and work and eat and sleep and all. It’s a pleasure. At least, that’s the way Carin and Azalea look at it. What I wanted to say was that for once you acted on impulse. You stayed till meeting was out, and you stopped in to see some sick neighbors. Well, I think that’s fine. Now, I asked my friend to stay all night. No preparation is needed. The cellar is bursting with food, the pantry is plumb full of it; there’s milk and cream to float a town and butter enough to grease all the engines in the world—”
“Annie Laurie!”
“Well, Aunt Adnah wears my patience out. I’m going to ask my friends here when it seems best.”
“My dear, you know we only ask you to use judgment.”
“Judgment? I don’t know what that means. I’ll use hospitality, if you like, and courtesy—”
“To your aunts, among others, I hope.”
“Bless your heart!” Azalea heard Annie Laurie cry softly. “You’re a dear, Aunt Zillah. Was I ever rude to you?”
“Not directly, my dear child. But you sometimes speak of my sister in a manner which I cannot regard as really respectful.”