We did not look forward to our
visit with any particular delight, for there was nobody at Cousin
Mattie's except grown-ups who had been grown up so long that it
was rather hard for them to remember they had ever been children.
But, as Felicity told us, it was necessary to visit Cousin Mattie
at least once a year, or else she would be "huffed," so we
concluded we might as well go and have it over.
"Anyhow, we'll get a splendiferous dinner," said Dan. "Cousin
Mattie's a great cook and there's nothing stingy about her."
"You are always thinking of your stomach," said Felicity
pleasantly.
"Well, you know I couldn't get along very well without it,
darling," responded Dan who, since New Year's, had adopted a new
method of dealing with Felicity--whether by way of keeping his
resolution or because he had discovered that it annoyed Felicity
far more than angry retorts, deponent sayeth not. He invariably
met her criticisms with a good-natured grin and a flippant remark
with some tender epithet tagged on to it. Poor Felicity used to
get hopelessly furious over it.
Uncle Alec was dubious about our going that day. He looked abroad
on the general dourness of gray earth and gray air and gray sky,
and said a storm was brewing. But Cousin Mattie had been sent
word that we were coming, and she did not like to be disappointed,
so he let us go, warning us to stay with Cousin Mattie all night
if the storm came on while we were there.
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