“Jordan could take me to Kensington,” pleaded Aunty Nan, with very unusual persistence.
“Nonsense! You couldn’t go to Kensington with the hired man. Now, Aunty Nan, do be reasonable. Aren’t William and I kind to you? Don’t we do everything for your comfort?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” admitted Aunty Nan deprecatingly.
“Well, then, you ought to be guided by our opinion. And you must just give up thinking about the Kensington concert, Aunty, and not worry yourself and me about it any more. I am going down to the shore field now to call William to tea. Just keep an eye on the baby in chance he wakes up, and see that the teapot doesn’t boil over.”
Mrs. William whisked out of the kitchen, pretending not to see the tears that were falling over Aunty Nan’s withered pink cheeks. Aunty Nan was really getting very childish, Mrs. William reflected, as she marched down to the shore field. Why, she cried now about every little thing! And such a notion—to want to go to the Old Timers’ concert at Kensington and be so set on it! Really, it was hard to put up with her whims. Mrs. William sighed virtuously.
As for Aunty Nan, she sat alone in the kitchen, and cried bitterly, as only lonely old age can cry. It seemed to her that she could not bear it, that she MUST go to Kensington. But she knew that it was not to be, since Mrs. William had decided otherwise. Mrs. William’s word was law at Gull Point Farm.
“What’s the matter with my old Aunty Nan?” cried a hearty young voice from the doorway. Jordan Sloane stood there, his round, freckled face looking as anxious and sympathetic as it was possible for such a very round, very freckled face to look. Jordan was the Morrisons’ hired boy that summer, and he worshipped Aunty Nan.
“Oh, Jordan,” sobbed Aunty Nan, who was not above telling her troubles to the hired help, although Mrs. William thought she ought to be, “I can’t go to Kensington to-morrow night to hear little Joscelyn sing at the Old Timers’ concert. Maria says I can’t.”
“That’s too bad,” said Jordan. “Old cat,” he muttered after the retreating and serenely unconscious Mrs. William. Then he shambled in and sat down on the sofa beside Aunty Nan.
“There, there, don’t cry,” he said, patting her thin little shoulder with his big, sunburned paw. “You’ll make yourself sick if you go on crying, and we can’t get along without you at Gull Point Farm.”