Judith was a working member of the Outing Ten, but if her outing meant this rag-carpet ball it was very discouraging, and if it were not for the pleasure of telling the President about the rag-carpet, she thought she would resign and become member of a ten that had more fun in it.
But then, Miss Marion was doing this kind of thing herself, things she did not like to do about the house, for she had sent away her servant and was doing all the work excepting washing and ironing, and, perhaps, in the village, too, she was doing uncongenial errands; but, of course, she would never tell the Outing Ten about that; she was going out to tea and making calls, as she had said she never would do when she came to Bensalem, and she was taking her music back and practicing hours every day, and reading solid books, instead of novels; she had let books and music go for a while, Judith had heard her say to Aunt Affy, and that Jean Draper’s outing had been the blessing of her life. It was Nettie’s blessing, too; she told Marion she had an “outing” every day; she was patching a quilt and studying history.
The history study was a part of Marion’s outing, but the Ten did not know that.
Aunt Affy, wearing a calico loose gown of lilac and white, was seated in a rocker at the window combing her long gray hair: her hair was soft and thick, she twisted it into a coil, and behind her each ear she brushed a long curl.
Judith liked to twist these curls around her fingers when she talked to Aunt Affy.
“Only a little more to do,” encouraged Aunt Affy, giving her coil a firm twist.
Sitting on the matting at Aunt Affy’s feet the little girl began her weary work again.
“Aunt Affy! How did you get your name?” she inquired with the eagerness of something new to talk about.
“How did you get yours?” asked Aunt Affy, seriously.
“But mine is a real name.”