“Yes, Grandmother,” said Susan, primly, hoping they were admiring her manners.
She walked quickly, and was back in a short time with two spools of white thread.
“But I told you black,” said Grandmother. “I can’t mend your Grandfather’s coat with white thread. I will keep these spools, but you will have to go back for black ones. Remember what I want it for, and then you won’t make another mistake.”
Gentilla, really enjoying herself alone with Grandmother, sat on the shady porch, comfortably holding Flip.
The sun was hot, and the road was dusty, and it is not pleasant when one is trying to be an example to be told that one has made a mistake. Susan felt aggrieved.
“You said white spools, Grandmother,” she answered bluntly. “I know you said white.”
Now this was not at all like Susan (perhaps the strain of being an example was beginning to tell) and Mrs. Whiting stared at her in surprise.
“Do you mean to be saucy, Susan?” she asked, after a pause. “Go on your errand at once, without another word.”
Susan turned on her heel and swallowed hard. She wanted to scream, or throw something at somebody, but she didn’t dare do anything but walk slowly down the lane on her errand.
When she returned, Grandmother took the spools and went into the house. Gentilla, still cuddling Flip, looked up with a smile, but she received a black look in return.