"Amy Scott, my best friend."
"How old is she?"
"About my age."
"She's got a man, sure, hain't she?"
"No."
"What—as fair a woman as her—and with that friendly smile?"
"No."
The anxious, puzzled look again fell upon Aunt Ailsie's face.
Then a song was started up, in which all the young folks joined with a will. It was a new kind of singing to Aunt Ailsie,—rousing and tuneful,—very different from the long-drawn hymns, or the droning ancient ballads, she had loved in her young days.
"They are getting ready for our Fourth of July picnic next Wednesday," said Virginia.