Miss Billie's Decision [34]
I chanced to hear Billy's speech, and I couldn't resist making the amendment. Maybe you've forgotten Kate's love of managing--but I haven't,'' he finished, as he sauntered over to the chair nearest Marie.
``No, I haven't--forgotten,'' observed Billy, meaningly.
``Nor I--nor anybody else,'' declared a severe voice--both the words and the severity being most extraordinary as coming from the usually gentle Aunt Hannah.
``Oh, well, never mind,'' spoke up Billy, quickly. ``Everything's all right now, so let's forget it. She always meant it for kindness, I'm sure.''
``Even when she told you in the first place what a--er--torment you were to us?'' quizzed Cyril.
``Yes,'' flashed Billy. ``She was being kind to _you_, then.''
``Humph!'' vouchsafed Cyril.
For a moment no one spoke. Cyril's eyes were on Marie, who was nervously trying to smooth back a few fluffy wisps of hair that had escaped from restraining combs and pins.
``What's the matter with the hair, little girl?'' asked Cyril in a voice that was caressingly irritable. ``You've been fussing with that long- suffering curl for the last five minutes!''
Marie's delicate face flushed painfully.
``It's got loose--my hair,'' she stammered, ``and it looks so dowdy that way!''
Billy dropped her thread suddenly. She sprang for it at once, before Cyril could make a move to get it. She had to dive far under a chair to capture it--which may explain why her face was so very red when she finally reached her seat again.
On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and Aunt Hannah were once more sewing together, this time in the little sitting-room at the end of the hall up-stairs.
Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very fast.
``I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven,'' she said, after a time; ``but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. I haven't much to do to get ready to go.''
``I hope Kate's train won't be late,'' worried Aunt Hannah.
``I hope not,'' replied Billy; ``but I told Rosa to delay luncheon, anyway, till we get here. I--'' She stopped abruptly and turned a listening ear toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which was open. A clock was striking. ``Mercy! that can't be eleven now,'' she cried. ``But it must be--it was ten before I came up-stairs.'' She got to her feet hurriedly.
Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand.
``No, no, dear, that's half-past ten.''
``But it struck eleven.''
``Yes, I know. It does--at half-past ten.''
``Why, the little wretch,'' laughed Billy, dropping back into her chair and picking up her work again. ``The idea of its telling fibs like that and frightening people half out of their lives! I'll have it fixed right away. Maybe John can do it --he's always so handy about such things.''
``But I don't want it fixed,'' demurred Aunt Hannah.
Billy stared a little.
``You don't want it fixed! Maybe you like to have it strike eleven when it's half-past ten!'' Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic.
``Y-yes, I do,'' stammered the lady, apologetically. ``You see, I--I worked very hard to fix it so it would strike that way.''
``_Aunt Hannah!_''
``Well, I did,'' retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. ``I wanted to know what time it was in the night--I'm awake such a lot.''
``But I don't see.'' Billy's eyes were perplexed. ``Why must you make it tell fibs in order to--to find out the truth?'' she laughed.
Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.
``Because that clock was always striking one.''
``One!''
``Yes--half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was.''
``But it must strike half-past now, just the same!''
``It does.'' There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in Aunt Hannah's voice. ``But now it strikes half-past _on the hour_, and the clock in the hall tells me _then_ what time it is, so I don't care.''
For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.
``Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,'' she gurgled.
``No, I haven't--forgotten,'' observed Billy, meaningly.
``Nor I--nor anybody else,'' declared a severe voice--both the words and the severity being most extraordinary as coming from the usually gentle Aunt Hannah.
``Oh, well, never mind,'' spoke up Billy, quickly. ``Everything's all right now, so let's forget it. She always meant it for kindness, I'm sure.''
``Even when she told you in the first place what a--er--torment you were to us?'' quizzed Cyril.
``Yes,'' flashed Billy. ``She was being kind to _you_, then.''
``Humph!'' vouchsafed Cyril.
For a moment no one spoke. Cyril's eyes were on Marie, who was nervously trying to smooth back a few fluffy wisps of hair that had escaped from restraining combs and pins.
``What's the matter with the hair, little girl?'' asked Cyril in a voice that was caressingly irritable. ``You've been fussing with that long- suffering curl for the last five minutes!''
Marie's delicate face flushed painfully.
``It's got loose--my hair,'' she stammered, ``and it looks so dowdy that way!''
Billy dropped her thread suddenly. She sprang for it at once, before Cyril could make a move to get it. She had to dive far under a chair to capture it--which may explain why her face was so very red when she finally reached her seat again.
On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and Aunt Hannah were once more sewing together, this time in the little sitting-room at the end of the hall up-stairs.
Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very fast.
``I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven,'' she said, after a time; ``but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. I haven't much to do to get ready to go.''
``I hope Kate's train won't be late,'' worried Aunt Hannah.
``I hope not,'' replied Billy; ``but I told Rosa to delay luncheon, anyway, till we get here. I--'' She stopped abruptly and turned a listening ear toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which was open. A clock was striking. ``Mercy! that can't be eleven now,'' she cried. ``But it must be--it was ten before I came up-stairs.'' She got to her feet hurriedly.
Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand.
``No, no, dear, that's half-past ten.''
``But it struck eleven.''
``Yes, I know. It does--at half-past ten.''
``Why, the little wretch,'' laughed Billy, dropping back into her chair and picking up her work again. ``The idea of its telling fibs like that and frightening people half out of their lives! I'll have it fixed right away. Maybe John can do it --he's always so handy about such things.''
``But I don't want it fixed,'' demurred Aunt Hannah.
Billy stared a little.
``You don't want it fixed! Maybe you like to have it strike eleven when it's half-past ten!'' Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic.
``Y-yes, I do,'' stammered the lady, apologetically. ``You see, I--I worked very hard to fix it so it would strike that way.''
``_Aunt Hannah!_''
``Well, I did,'' retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. ``I wanted to know what time it was in the night--I'm awake such a lot.''
``But I don't see.'' Billy's eyes were perplexed. ``Why must you make it tell fibs in order to--to find out the truth?'' she laughed.
Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.
``Because that clock was always striking one.''
``One!''
``Yes--half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was.''
``But it must strike half-past now, just the same!''
``It does.'' There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in Aunt Hannah's voice. ``But now it strikes half-past _on the hour_, and the clock in the hall tells me _then_ what time it is, so I don't care.''
For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.
``Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,'' she gurgled.