bad for Eunice, but she cut me right off and hung up, and said she'd be up about half-past six. I don't even know where she telephoned from."
"Shall I go and get Mrs. O'Brien?" asked Reba.
Mrs. O'Brien was a very old Irish woman who washed sheets, towels, and flannels at the Jerome house every other week, and on the two or three occasions when the minister and his wife had been invited for Sunday dinner she had cleared the table and brought on the dessert.
"No, you needn't," snapped Aunt Augusta. "We'll put on no lugs for Patience Patterson."
"Oh, do let me run down to Buffum's and get a quart of oysters for a stew," pleaded Reba. "It won't take me ten minutes."
"Certainly not," replied Aunt Augusta. "Cold lamb, and bread and butter's good enough for any one."
"Well, but I can put on the best china, can't I, and the silver teapot?"
"No, you can't. We'll put on nothing extra. Good lands, Reba, Patience Patterson's nobody."
"I know, but I thought—being company—we have so little chance to use the best china anyhow—I thought"
"Now, don't tease, Reba. You can light up the parlor, and that's all."
Patience Patterson was a second cousin to Reba's father. The kinship was not close, but relatives on her father's side were scarce, and the prospect of entertaining Cousin Pattie, as she was known in Ridgefield, was an event to Reba.
Reba was only thirteen years old when she saw Cousin Pattie last, but she could recall her perfectly—
