out of the room. Cousin Pattie at that only tucked in, "David hasn't changed a mite," and continued with her narrative.
It was when she had finished the carefully allotted two halves of stewed pears in her pressed-glass sauce-dish that she began gathering up all the soiled silver within reach and piling it on a plate nearby.
"Come on, you've got to let me help clear up," she said. "I haven't forgotten how. Not by a long shot. Glasses and silver first; china next; then pots and pans; dish-towels last. Let me wash. I like the feeling of dishwater trickling through my fingers. Brings back my girlhood. Come, Reba, pass over your silver."
"Reba," broke in Aunt Augusta sternly, "you take your Cousin Patience into the parlor. We'll attend to things here!" she announced.
"Wanted to get into the kitchen, and see what sort of a place that was, I suppose," contemptuously she went on, when Reba had obediently led Cousin Pattie out of the dining-room. "Wanted to get her eye into our refrigerator, no doubt, and tell that Hattie Miles what we got in it. Well, I guess not! I won't have Patience Patterson step foot in my kitchen." Then, "Reba!" she called abruptly. "Reba!"
"Yes," came from the front hall.
"Your mother's pills."
"Nobody ever thinks of me when there's anything else to think about," the invalid had been whining.
"I'll be back in a minute," said Reba to Cousin Pattie. "Will you wait in the parlor till I come?" she asked politely.
