May grew bewildered and rather sick. When she opened her eyes she caught such a cruel secret expression in Aunt Alice's face. Why does Aunt Alice always hate me? She moved her head from Aunt Alice's hand and gazed at the burnt grass rocking in the sunshine. She tried to be happy and amused.
"Can't look at her, eh?" Aunt Alice said suddenly. "Don't wonder, May. Ugly old bitch. Did you ever hear of the power and the glory without end?"
There were tears trembling on May's lashes. She gave Aunt Alice a quick stare and laughed.
Aunt Alice was examining her cautiously. "You're something of a milksop, May. Keep on being a milksop. The Lord loveth a cheerful giver. But your legs are too thin. You'll never attain to joy without end with those legs."
May did not want to understand what this meant. Something inside her was trembling and lacerated. She stared directly at Aunt Alice now, determined not to see her clearly. She could not bear to do so.
And Aunt Alice's face was calm and kind, resigned and humorous, her eyes as steady as May's. "Your old aunt is an eccentric creature, May."
"I don't think so," May said with confused well-meaning.
Grandpapa Farley was calling from the garden. May was glad to run away to him.
It was a long way home—almost to the other end of town. May felt the distance interminable.