Amy’s burst of laughter was such an unexpected interruption that Peggy’s considerate appeal halted midway and the other girls stared. And Amy screwing her eyes tightly shut, as was her habit when highly amused, finished her laugh at her leisure, before she deigned an explanation.
“You’d know how funny that sounded if you’d ever seen Aunt Abigail. She’s along in her seventies, so I suppose you would call her old, but in a good many ways she’s as young as we are–Oh, yes, younger, as young as Peggy’s Dorothy.”
There was something fascinating in the idea of a chaperon, characterized by such singular extremes. The girls listened breathlessly.
“Mother says it’s all because she’s lived in such an unusual way. You see, her husband was an artist, and they used to travel around everywhere. Sometimes they’d board at a hotel, and sometimes they’d have rooms, and do light housekeeping, and, then again, they’d camp, and live in a tent for months at a time. And Aunt Abigail hasn’t any idea of getting up to breakfast at any special hour, or being on hand to dinner.”
The expression of anxious interest was fading gradually from the faces of the three listeners, and cheerful anticipation was taking its place.
“She forgets everything she promises to do,” Amy continued. “It isn’t because she’s old, either. She’s been that way ever since mother can remember. She’s always losing things, and getting into the most awful scrapes. We should have to look after her, just as if she were a child. And then she’s the jolliest soul you ever knew, and she’s a regular Arabian Nights’ entertainment when it comes to telling stories.”
After the vision of a nervous old lady who would demand that the house be very quiet, and get into a nervous flutter if a meal were delayed fifteen minutes, Amy’s realistic sketch was immensely appealing. “Girls,” Peggy exclaimed, “I move we invite Aunt Abigail to chaperon our crowd!” And the motion was carried not only unanimously, but with an enthusiasm Aunt Abigail would certainly have found gratifying, though it might have surprised her, in view of her grand-niece’s candid statement.
Peggy had pleaded to be allowed to take Dorothy along. “I can’t bear to think of that darling child spending July and August in a fourth-floor flat, looking down on the tops of street-cars. And I don’t think she’d bother you girls a bit.”
“Bother!” cried Amy generously. “We need something to fall back on for rainy days, and Dorothy’s a picnic in herself. Between her and Aunt Abigail we’ll be entertained whatever happens.”
Priscilla, too, had suggested an addition to the party. “You’ve heard me speak of Claire Fendall, girls. I saw a good deal of her at the conservatory, and she’s as sweet as she can be. Well, we’ve talked of her visiting me this vacation, and I don’t feel quite like announcing that I’m going off for the entire summer without asking her if she’d like to go too.”