Aunt Achsa was in the kitchen trimming the edge of a pie. She was holding it high on the tips of her fingers and skilfully cutting the crust with a small knife when under it she spied Sidney’s shorn head. She promptly dropped the pie upon the table upside down. A trickle of red cherry juice ran out over the spotless table.
“Why, I swum! Sidney Romley! Wh—what have you gone and done? What’s ever happened to you?”
“My hair was so hot and such a bother. I can swim now and won’t have to sit around for an hour drying it. I hated my braids—” All good arguments which rang true but did not seem to convince Aunt Achsa who continued to stare at Sidney with troubled eyes.
“It’s my hair, Aunt Achsa. If I look a sight it’s my own fault.”
“That ain’t it, child. Only—it’s so sudden. Your—doing it—without a word or—or anything. What’ll your folks say? I—I—kind a wish you’d just told me, you see.”
Sidney laughed with a lightness she did not feel. Aunt Achsa eyes were so reproachful, even hurt. “Why, I did not have time to tell you. I didn’t think of it myself until a few moments ago. And Mart offered to do it for me. It’s such a little thing to make any fuss about.”
The cherry juice went on dripping until a big round stain disfigured the tablecloth and still Aunt Achsa stared at Sidney with troubled eyes.
“It’s a little thing, of course. But I was thinkin’—Sidney, promise your Aunt Achsy you won’t go off and do anything else high-handed like without tellin’ me. I don’t want to be worryin’ or suspicionin’ what you’re up to or havin’ your sisters blame me for something that ain’t just right to their thinkin’. Mebbe we don’t do things same as you do but we know what’s right and what’s wrong same as anyone.” Which was a long and stern speech for Aunt Achsa. She gave a frightened gasp at the end and turned the poor pie right side up.
A dark flush had swept Sidney’s face. There was no such thing as freedom anywhere—there must always be someone in authority somewhere to warn and rebuke, even this absurd little old woman, who seemed so remotely related. She wished she could think of something very withering and at the same time dignified to retort.
“I think I am perfectly capable of knowing what is right and what is wrong and my sisters have perfect confidence in me,” she said slowly and with deep inward satisfaction. Then she added scornfully: “Of course it is very different here and if I don’t seem to get used to it you can’t blame me!” With which she stalked through the parlor to her room and slammed the door.