“Drat the woman!” said my aunt, “why can't she sit down and give us our tea before it's all cold?”
“You are a disagreeable thing!” said my mother.
“Not half milk,” said my aunt. My aunt was never in the least disturbed by other people's opinion of her, which was perhaps well for her.
For three days my mother packed and sang; and a dozen times a day unpacked and laughed, looking for things wanted that were always found at the very bottom of the very last box looked into, so that Anna, waiting for a certain undergarment of my aunt's which shall be nameless, suggested a saving of time:
“If I were you, ma'am,” said Anna, “I'd look into the last box you're going to look into first.”
But it was found eventually in the first box-the box, that is, my mother had intended to search first, but which, acting on Anna's suggestion, she had reserved till the last. This caused my mother to be quite short with Anna, who she said had wasted her time. But by Tuesday afternoon all stood ready: we were to start early Wednesday morning.
That evening, missing my mother in the house, I sought her in the garden and found her, as I had expected, on her favourite seat under the great lime tree; but to my surprise there were tears in her eyes.
“But I thought you were glad we were going,” I said.
“So I am,” answered my mother, drying her eyes only to make room for fresh tears.
“Then why are you crying?”