“You needn’t be afraid of her getting here before your breakfast,” laughed Mrs. Edmonson grimly. “She don’t have hers till ten.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the little one, “are you sure?”
“I ought to know,” the woman replied. “I’ve been there often enough and heard Tilly and Sadie scolding because the breakfast was all dried up waiting for her.”
“Anyway,” the child smilingly insisted, “it would save trouble to put on my best clothes now, and then I shouldn’t have to make her wait, no matter when she comes.”
“You’re a queer young one to get around things,” Aunt Sophie laughed. Then she brought out a little striped pink gingham frock, snowy white petticoats, and a pair of shiny black shoes none too large for a two-year-old baby, while the little girl in bed watched the preparations with smiles of approval.
“You mustn’t set your heart on going this afternoon,” Aunt Sophie finally advised. “To my mind it is very uncertain whether she comes”—there was a perceptible pause—“to-day.”
“Oh, I s’pose it will be just as nice if she shouldn’t come till to-morrow,” the child reflected, “’cause then I shall have it longer to think about. You see, one day doesn’t make much difference,” she philosophized. “Yesterday it seemed a perfect age till to-day, and now it’s right here in no time at all. I guess it’s always that way. So if she doesn’t have time to come to-day, I shall know to-morrow will be here in just a few minutes. But I guess she’ll come—I kind o’ feel it! Don’t you ever feel things coming, Aunt Sophie?”
The plump little aunt bobbed her head with a “M-h’m” over the drawer where the small girl’s stockings were kept.
The little one chattered on until she was seated in her high, cushioned chair at the breakfast table.
“Now you’d better let your victuals stop your mouth,” laughed her aunt, not unkindly. “If you don’t keep still, pretty soon you won’t be fit to go to ride or anywhere else. You’ve talked every minute since you woke up.”