"Pretty soon. He'll be in before we start singing. Let's me and you sit on the front bench. That way, you can see good."
The mourners' bench?"
"Sugar, it's not the mourner's bench, except during protracted Meeting time."
Mama and I sat down and waited—and waited.
All the school kids, ganged up in the corner behind the stage curtain, were getting noisy. It sounded like fun, but we heard Aunt Vic ask them to please be quiet.
Mama wanted me to be still. "Quit twisting around, Bandershanks!" she said. "You'll tear up your costume!"
I hadn't been doing any twisting, except when I slid down to the far end of the bench to watch the folks hang gifts on the tree, or when I looked back to find out who else was coming in the door, or when I turned so I could see everybody sitting behind us. Mama should have known that bit of twisting around wouldn't hurt my walking-tree dress.
Mama turned sideways herself to see what Ginger was gonna do, as he kept trotting up and down the aisle. She said he was trying to find Aunt Vic.
Instead of looking behind the curtain, Ginger kept going down to the bench where he sat by Aunt Vic on Sundays. Finally he gave up his looking and his trotting and lay down by the wood box.
I stretched both my arms out straight.