Miss Billie's Decision [35]
``If Bertram wouldn't call you the limit --making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it's half-past ten!''
Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood her ground.
``Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now, that I don't know what time it is,'' she maintained, ``for one or the other of those clocks strikes the hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-ending three ones that strike one after the other in the middle of the night, I can tell now, for the hall clock has a different sound for the half-hours, you know, so I can tell whether it's one or a half-past.''
``Of course,'' chuckled Billy.
``I'm sure I think it's a splendid idea,'' chimed in Marie, valiantly; ``and I'm going to write it to mother's Cousin Jane right away. She's an invalid, and she's always lying awake nights wondering what time it is. The doctor says actually he believes she'd get well if he could find some way of letting her know the time at night, so she'd get some sleep; for she simply can't go to sleep till she knows. She can't bear a light in the room, and it wakes her all up to turn an electric switch, or anything of that kind.''
``Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous things?'' questioned Billy.
Marie laughed quietly.
``She did. I sent her one,--and she stood it just one night.''
``Stood it!''
``Yes. She declared it gave her the creeps, and that she wouldn't have the spooky thing staring at her all night like that. So it's got to be something she can hear, and I'm going to tell her Mrs. Stetson's plan right away.''
``Well, I'm sure I wish you would,'' cried that lady, with prompt interest; ``and she'll like it, I'm sure. And tell her if she can hear a _town_ clock strike, it's just the same, and even better; for there aren't any half-hours at all to think of there.''
``I will--and I think it's lovely,'' declared Marie.
``Of course it's lovely,'' smiled Billy, rising; ``but I fancy I'd better go and get ready to meet Mrs. Hartwell, or the `lovely' thing will be telling me that it's half-past eleven!'' And she tripped laughingly from the room.
Promptly at the appointed time John with Peggy drew up before the door, and Billy, muffled in furs, stepped into the car, which, with its protecting top and sides and glass wind-shield, was in its winter dress.
``Yes'm, 'tis a little chilly, Miss,'' said John, in answer to her greeting, as he tucked the heavy robes about her.
``Oh, well, I shall be very comfortable, I'm sure,'' smiled Billy. ``Just don't drive too rapidly, specially coming home. I shall have to get a limousine, I think, when my ship comes in, John.''
John's grizzled old face twitched. So evident were the words that were not spoken that Billy asked laughingly:
``Well, John, what is it?''
John reddened furiously.
``Nothing, Miss. I was only thinkin' that if you didn't 'tend ter haulin' in so many other folks's ships, yours might get in sooner.''
``Why, John! Nonsense! I--I love to haul in other folks's ships,'' laughed the girl, embarrassedly.
``Yes, Miss; I know you do,'' grunted John.
Billy colored.
``No, no--that is, I mean--I don't do it-- very much,'' she stammered.
John did not answer apparently; but Billy was sure she caught a low-muttered, indignant ``much!'' as he snapped the door shut and took his place at the wheel.
To herself she laughed softly. She thought she possessed the secret now of some of John's disapproving glances toward her humble guests of the summer before.
CHAPTER XII
SISTER KATE
At the station Mrs. Hartwell's train was found to be gratifyingly on time; and in due course Billy was extending a cordial welcome to a tall, handsome woman who carried herself with an unmistakable air of assured competence. Accompanying her was a little girl with big blue eyes and yellow curls.
``I am very glad to see you both,'' smiled Billy, holding out a friendly hand to Mrs. Hartwell, and stooping to kiss the round cheek of the little girl.
``Thank you, you are very kind,'' murmured the lady; ``but--are
Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood her ground.
``Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now, that I don't know what time it is,'' she maintained, ``for one or the other of those clocks strikes the hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-ending three ones that strike one after the other in the middle of the night, I can tell now, for the hall clock has a different sound for the half-hours, you know, so I can tell whether it's one or a half-past.''
``Of course,'' chuckled Billy.
``I'm sure I think it's a splendid idea,'' chimed in Marie, valiantly; ``and I'm going to write it to mother's Cousin Jane right away. She's an invalid, and she's always lying awake nights wondering what time it is. The doctor says actually he believes she'd get well if he could find some way of letting her know the time at night, so she'd get some sleep; for she simply can't go to sleep till she knows. She can't bear a light in the room, and it wakes her all up to turn an electric switch, or anything of that kind.''
``Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous things?'' questioned Billy.
Marie laughed quietly.
``She did. I sent her one,--and she stood it just one night.''
``Stood it!''
``Yes. She declared it gave her the creeps, and that she wouldn't have the spooky thing staring at her all night like that. So it's got to be something she can hear, and I'm going to tell her Mrs. Stetson's plan right away.''
``Well, I'm sure I wish you would,'' cried that lady, with prompt interest; ``and she'll like it, I'm sure. And tell her if she can hear a _town_ clock strike, it's just the same, and even better; for there aren't any half-hours at all to think of there.''
``I will--and I think it's lovely,'' declared Marie.
``Of course it's lovely,'' smiled Billy, rising; ``but I fancy I'd better go and get ready to meet Mrs. Hartwell, or the `lovely' thing will be telling me that it's half-past eleven!'' And she tripped laughingly from the room.
Promptly at the appointed time John with Peggy drew up before the door, and Billy, muffled in furs, stepped into the car, which, with its protecting top and sides and glass wind-shield, was in its winter dress.
``Yes'm, 'tis a little chilly, Miss,'' said John, in answer to her greeting, as he tucked the heavy robes about her.
``Oh, well, I shall be very comfortable, I'm sure,'' smiled Billy. ``Just don't drive too rapidly, specially coming home. I shall have to get a limousine, I think, when my ship comes in, John.''
John's grizzled old face twitched. So evident were the words that were not spoken that Billy asked laughingly:
``Well, John, what is it?''
John reddened furiously.
``Nothing, Miss. I was only thinkin' that if you didn't 'tend ter haulin' in so many other folks's ships, yours might get in sooner.''
``Why, John! Nonsense! I--I love to haul in other folks's ships,'' laughed the girl, embarrassedly.
``Yes, Miss; I know you do,'' grunted John.
Billy colored.
``No, no--that is, I mean--I don't do it-- very much,'' she stammered.
John did not answer apparently; but Billy was sure she caught a low-muttered, indignant ``much!'' as he snapped the door shut and took his place at the wheel.
To herself she laughed softly. She thought she possessed the secret now of some of John's disapproving glances toward her humble guests of the summer before.
CHAPTER XII
SISTER KATE
At the station Mrs. Hartwell's train was found to be gratifyingly on time; and in due course Billy was extending a cordial welcome to a tall, handsome woman who carried herself with an unmistakable air of assured competence. Accompanying her was a little girl with big blue eyes and yellow curls.
``I am very glad to see you both,'' smiled Billy, holding out a friendly hand to Mrs. Hartwell, and stooping to kiss the round cheek of the little girl.
``Thank you, you are very kind,'' murmured the lady; ``but--are