But her questions were kept for Miss Marion. The year went on to Judith in household work, in study, in church work and “growing up” with the village girls; Nettie Evans and Jean Draper were her chief friends. The year went on to Marion. June came; the new minister and his sister had been a year in Bensalem.
Marion told him that his sermons were growing up, because his boys and girls were growing up.
In this year Marion Kenney had discovered Aunt Affy.
She said to her one afternoon in the entry bedroom: “I was hungry to find you; I knew I wanted somebody. I knew you were in the world, because if you were not in the world, I should not be hungry for you.”
“‘If it were not so, I would have told you,’” said Aunt Affy, in the confident tone in which she always repeated the Lord’s own words.
Judith heard the words: the wonderful words, and in her fashion, made a commentary upon them: when things were not so, and couldn’t be so, God told you, so that you needn’t be too disappointed; he wouldn’t let you hope too long for things and build on them—that is, if you were not wilful about them. You might think just a little while about a thing, and not be silly about it, and if it were not so you would soon find out. She had found out about boarding-school—only she had been pretty bad about that all by herself, and did not deserve to have Miss Marion for a teacher.
Was Miss Marion paid? She had never thought of it until this moment.
It was “rag carpet afternoon.” Judith coaxed Aunt Rody to allow her to take her half-finished ball and pile of rags up garret again, after Miss Marion came, but Aunt Rody sternly refused: “When I was a little girl I did my stent, company or no company. You can see Miss Kenney after you are through.”
“But I am so slow,” sighed the rag-carpet sewer.
“Be fast, then,” was the grim advice.