"All right," says I, "you tell her so. Here she is." And afore he could get out of the door she sailed through it, luggin' another tray loaded like the fust one. She slammed it down and turned to the invalid, who was tryin' to hide his blanket dressin'-sack behind a chair.
"Here is Lemuel!" she hollers. "It is Lemuel, isn't it? I'm so glad to see you! I'm Lucindy, Lot's auntie. In a way we're related, so we must shake hands."
She reached over and took his little thin hand in her big one and gave it a squeeze that made him curl up like a fishin' worm.
"There!" says she, "now we're all acquainted and sociable. Ain't that nice! You two set right down and eat. I'll trot up again in a few minutes to see how you're gettin' on. Sure you've got all you want? All right, then." Out she went, singin' away, and Cousin Lemuel flopped down in a chair.
"Good heavens!" he gasps, working the fingers Aunt Lucindy had shook, to make sure they was all there. "Good heavens!" says he.
"Yes," says I, "I agree with you."
"She calls me by my Christian name!" he says, pantin', "and I never saw her before in my life! And it—it didn't seem to occur to her that I was not fully dressed. What shall I do?"
"Well," says I, "if you asked me I should say you better make believe eat somethin'. What I can't eat I'm goin' to heave out of the back window. I'd ruther satisfy that woman than explain to her, enough sight."
But he wouldn't eat, seemed to be in a sort of daze, as you might say, and went flappin' back to his own room. I tackled the breakfast.
It would take a week to tell you all that happened that forenoon. My time's limited, so I'll only tell a little of it. When Aunt Lucindy come upstairs again and see his tray, not a thing on it touched, she wanted to know why. I done my best to explain, tellin' her Cousin Lemuel was afflicted in the nerves, and about his tea and toast, and his diff'rent kinds of medicines, and his doctors, and so on, but she wouldn't listen to more'n half of it.