“He thinks I am not—”
Her shy lips could not frame the words “a Christian.”
“Not very well brought up,” tartly finished Aunt Rody.
“I brought myself up, that’s the reason then,” replied Judith, her eyes filling with resentful tears. “Mother was always too sick. Cousin Don said my mother was the sweetest mother in the world.”
“You act like a sick mother; but you’ve got an aunt that isn’t sick; and if I ever see you read again in church you shall not go to church for six months. Tell your Cousin Don that.”
“I wouldn’t mind church,” replied Judith.
“To Sunday School then, if that hurts more.”
“Oh, tut, tut,” came good humoredly from the front seat. “Don’t forget your own young days, Rody.”
“I never had any. Just as I shall never have any old age. I’ve never had time to be young or old.”
Judith laughed. Aunt Rody was eighty-four years old.