“Used to make me feel right spooky when she first came here,” Mr. Stagg sometimes said, “but I got used to it. And it does seem hospitable.”
The little girl took off her plain black hat, shook back her hair, and patted it smooth with her hands, then plunged her hands and face into the basin of cool water Aunty Rose had drawn for her at the sink. The dust was all washed away and a fresh glow came into her flowerlike face. Aunty Rose watched her silently.
Such a dignified, upright, unresponsive woman as she seemed standing there! And so particular, neat, and immaculate was this kitchen!
Carolyn May, as she dried her face and hands, heard a familiar whine at the door. It was Prince. She wondered if she had at all broken the ice for him with Aunty Rose.
“Oh,” the little girl mused, “I wonder what she will say to a mongorel.”
CHAPTER III—GOING TO BED
Mr. Stagg had fastened Prince’s strap to the porch rail, and he now came in with the bag.
“Is that all the child’s baggage, Joseph Stagg?” asked Aunty Rose, taking it from his hand.
“Why—why, I never thought to ask her,” the man admitted. “Have you a trunk check, Car’lyn?”
“No, sir.”