The Story Girl here flew out to defend her pet, and we four boys
sat on, miserably conscious of Great-aunt Eliza, who never said a
word to us, despite her previously expressed desire to become
acquainted with us. She kept on looking at the photographs and
seemed quite oblivious of our presence.
Presently the girls returned, having, as transpired later, been so
successful in removing the traces of Paddy's mischief that it was
not deemed necessary to worry Great-aunt Eliza with any account of
it. Felicity announced tea and, while Cecily conveyed Great-aunt
Eliza out to the dining-room, lingered behind to consult with us
for a moment.
"Ought we to ask her to say grace?" she wanted to know.
"I know a story," said the Story Girl, "about Uncle Roger when he
was just a young man. He went to the house of a very deaf old
lady and when they sat down to the table she asked him to say
grace. Uncle Roger had never done such a thing in his life and he
turned as red as a beet and looked down and muttered, 'E-r-r,
please excuse me--I--I'm not accustomed to doing that.' Then he
looked up and the old lady said 'Amen,' loudly and cheerfully.
She thought Uncle Roger was saying grace all the time."
"I don't think it's right to tell funny stories about such
things," said Felicity coldly.
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