Daddy never turned aside his questions with an “Oh, you wouldn’t understand, wait till you’re older” kind of answer, and Sunny really was used to reasoning things out.
“I’ll carry the suitcase,” he offered, when they came to Aunt Bessie’s house. “Let me ring, Daddy.”
Aunt Bessie lived in an apartment house and the colored boy who answered the bell knew Sunny very well indeed.
“Miss Andrew ain’t home,” he said. “But Miss Martinson am. I’ll take you-all up.”
Aunt Bessie was Miss Andrew, and of course the colored boy couldn’t have known much English grammar to say “ain’t.” Or, perhaps, he forgot what his mother told him about always saying “is not.” We’ll hope you never do. Anyway, this boy had the most delightful, rich, soft voice, and no matter what he said it always sounded pleasant.
“How lovely of you!” Miss Martinson, Aunt Bessie’s friend who lived with her and helped keep house in the apartment, flung open the door almost as soon as they lifted the heavy old-fashioned knocker. “Come right in. We have a bundle of things that simply won’t go in the trunk and Bessie has every suitcase packed so full now we’re in despair.”
Miss Martinson was little and dark and pretty. She taught girls in a large public school how to baste and hem and tuck and, after a while, make dresses. She was a sewing teacher.
Sunny and Mr. Horton couldn’t stay very long because they knew that Mother at home would be needing them. But before they went, Sunny ran out to the kitchen to find his dear Harriet.
“Here’s my own boy, bless his dear heart!” and Harriet, whose eyes were as blue as Sunny Boy’s, and who wore a blue dress that just matched them and her usual big, white apron—Harriet’s aprons were always whiter than other people’s—swooped down upon Sunny Boy and gave him a tremendous hug. “Did you have a lovely time on the farm, darlin’? And did you miss Harriet? Never mind, we’re going to have a fine time down at the sea. Think of it—you’ll be sailing boats and going swimming and all!”
“Sunny, coming?” called Mr. Horton.