Sally didn’t stir. She was hidden from the house by a great forsythia bush, whose branches, long and slender, trailed upon the ground.
Mother called once more and then went into the house.
Presently, out came Aunt Bee, in her pretty white frock, looking for Sally.
She walked down to the swing: no Sally there. She stood still and looked about her. Sally made herself as small as ever she could. But did Aunt Bee catch a glimpse of her behind the bush?
At any rate, Aunt Bee turned and came straight toward Sally. And what do you think Sally did? Down on the ground she went in a little heap and crawled under the forsythia bush. There she rolled herself into a ball and waited.
Nearer came Aunt Bee, nearer and nearer, until she reached the bush. Sally could feel her stop and look at the mud pies in a row, at the overturned bowl, at the great muddy spot in the grass.
Then Aunt Bee stooped and looked under the bush. For a long time she didn’t say a word, and Sally kept her head down and her eyes shut tight.
At last Sally opened one eye. She stole a glance at Aunt Bee. Aunt Bee’s face was very red, and Sally couldn’t tell whether she were going to laugh or to cry.
Either way it would be dreadful. It would break Sally’s heart to make Aunt Bee cry, but she simply couldn’t bear it if Aunt Bee should laugh at her when she was in such trouble. So Sally herself began to cry again. It was the only thing she could think of to do.
Then Aunt Bee spoke. She was neither laughing nor crying, and her voice was very gentle indeed.