“You kin wear your best bunnet, so’s to stop to the concert on the way back.”
“Reuben Whittaker! you’re not going to blow in a single cent on any concert, and you know it. If Gertrude is foolish ’nough to go and take Chee, that ain’t none of my business.” Aunt Mean looked toward her nieces as she spoke, but the cousins’ eyes were fixed upon their plates.
“Why, Mean,” said Uncle Reuben, mildly, “the minister says the hull town is going to turn out. Even—”
“When did you see the minister?” interrupted his sister.
“Even Miss Flanigin sent for her sister to take keer of the young’ns,” continued Uncle Reuben, without notice of any question. “I never reckoned on our being behind the Flanigins.”
“Humph! those Flanigins,” was Aunt Mean’s only comment. But Gertrude noticed, as they drove away, a bonnet with a purple poppy had won the day.
“What could have possessed Uncle Reuben to take her off to-day, of all days?” gleefully questioned Chee.
“Everything is turning out just right, that’s a fact,” replied her cousin.
A thought of half suspicion came to Chee. “You don’t suppose—” she began, impressively, when Gertrude gave a little cry of pleasure, saying, “If here doesn’t come Herman, the old dear, and the house all to ourselves.”
What a day of it they had! With only her two good friends to watch her, Chee forgot her usual reserve, and quite surprised them with her happy chatter. Without the restraint of Aunt Mean’s practical presence, some of the child’s queer fancies and odd expressions crept into her talk. Until then, Gertrude had but half realized how truly the little cousin’s nature was made up of the sensitive perceptions and legendary instincts of her mother’s people.