Aunt Sally’s own cheerfulness was fully restored. With her to be busy helping somebody was, after all, her happiness. And she saw that she had never come to Sobrante more opportunely.
“Your mother isn’t up yet, dearie. And I’ve had the tackers out and washed ’em good. Then I filled them with hot milk, and some of my salt-risin’ bread I fetched along in my box, and put ’em to bed. I promised if they’d go to sleep again I’d make ’em each a saucer-pie, and they went.”
In spite of her heavy heart, Jessica laughed.
“Aunt Sally, I don’t believe there’s another person could make them go to sleep at this time of day; not even my mother.”
“Pooh! Her! Why, that little Edward knows he can twist her round his thumb easy as scat. He’s too much the look of his father for Gabriella ever to be sot with him. You, now, you favor her folks.”
Here, foreseeing that the talkative woman was off on a long track, Ephraim mildly inquired:
“Aunt Sally, did you bring that rheumatism-oil you had last time you were here?”
She put on her spectacles and looked at him over them, as was her habit. Never, by any chance, had she been known to look through them, and her explanation of wearing them at all was simply: “It’s proper for a woman of my age.”
“Ephy, you feel real bright, don’t you? You and rheumatism! Why, man, you’ll be getting married before you get rheumatic.”
“Then I’ll never need the oil.”