“And, Glory dear, some day soon, very soon, you and I shall have to have a long talk—about Aunt Lottie’s affairs. You know you were in such a hurry that afternoon—”
“Yes, the day it rained and I had to get back home,” put in Gloria mercifully. She might have said: the day I received the first shock, and ran back home frightened about it.
The clock struck half past eight “Here’s your lunch, I put it up while I was packing your uncle’s bag,” said Aunt Hattie, although the feat of putting up a lunch and packing a bag at the same time was rather unusual.
“Oh, thank you, aunty,” again the endearing term. “I am glad you did, for I want to pick a bunch of dahlias I promised Miss Gray. She has been very kind to me and has helped me a lot with my ‘catch up’ work already.”
With her lunch and the bunch of season’s-end dahlias, Gloria was soon on her way to school. Her mind was now filled with new fancies. Hazel’s flying trip home had been the means of opening Gloria’s eyes to the real depths of her aunt’s character.
“She would do anything for her,” came back the persistent thought, and that was qualified with—“Just as my dad would do it for me.”
Where the winding Old Road joined the street that slashed into the village, Gloria met a group of young children, books under their arms and lunches in their hands. They were a rather unkempt little crowd, their clothes all seemed too large, and their faces too small for the rest of them.
“Hello!” Gloria greeted them kindly.
“You needn’t hello us,” said one of the larger girls.