Carolyn May was quite as much puzzled by that expression as she had been by “bailiwick.” She shook her head.
“I don’t think I am,” she confessed. “Mrs. Price said I was an orphan. Is that anything like a fresh-air?”
“Most of them is,” the hackman said sententiously. “But here’s Mrs. Kennedy.”
Aunty Rose appeared. She wore a close bonnet, trimmed very plainly, and carried a parasol of drab silk. Otherwise, she had not changed her usual attire, save to remove the voluminous apron she wore when at her housework.
“I would take you with me, child,” she said, looking at Carolyn May, “only I don’t know what to do with that dog. I suppose he would tear the house down if we shut him in?”
“I expect so,” admitted the little girl.
“And if he was outside, he would follow the hack?”
“Yes, ma’am,” agreed Carolyn May again.
“Then you’ll have to stay at home and watch him,” said Aunty Rose decisively. “I always claimed a dog was a nuisance.”
Between Uncle Joe and Aunty Rose, both of the visitors at the Stagg place were proving to be nuisances.