The next day awaited her with mischief as devious as Puck himself.
She slept in late, waking flustered as she pulled on her robe and stepped into her galoshes that stood on the porch. The paper hit her on the rear as she bent to grab her watering can, and she let out a squeak, sounding like a four-year-old instead of a grown forty-year-old; and three months.
The watering took twice as long as usual, and her tea kettle whistled early, throwing her off-balance. She dashed into the house, her robe flapping - horribly reducing her dignity - and three long blasts of one of those dreadful automobiles sounded outside as she snatched the kettle off the stove.
She raced outside, waving her arms and yelling at the taxicab as it sped away, honking infernally and leaving a cloud of dust behind.
The figure of two suitcases with a small figure sitting on them halted her. Constance dropped her arms as the girl stared at her.
She must look a sight. Her hair was disheveled; the robe slipped halfway down her shoulder as she held the steaming kettle in one hand with mud splattered across her boots.
“Oh!” She squeaked.
The girl didn’t move, gazing unwaveringly at the woman, studying her.
“Hello, Aunt.”
Constance stood, unsure of what to do. Her poppies were trampled, and the morning’s paper lay in the mud along with her watering can, and the white fence drooped even lower.
She looked down at the tea kettle in her hand.
“Uh... Tea?”
The girl stayed stiller than ever, considering. “Inside?”
Constance nodded, not knowing what else to do.
“Sure.” The girl promptly hopped up and hoisted her bags up the steps.
With a sinking feeling Constance heard the screen door slam. To think, that her screen door was slammed. God save them all.
She slept in late, waking flustered as she pulled on her robe and stepped into her galoshes that stood on the porch. The paper hit her on the rear as she bent to grab her watering can, and she let out a squeak, sounding like a four-year-old instead of a grown forty-year-old; and three months.
The watering took twice as long as usual, and her tea kettle whistled early, throwing her off-balance. She dashed into the house, her robe flapping - horribly reducing her dignity - and three long blasts of one of those dreadful automobiles sounded outside as she snatched the kettle off the stove.
She raced outside, waving her arms and yelling at the taxicab as it sped away, honking infernally and leaving a cloud of dust behind.
The figure of two suitcases with a small figure sitting on them halted her. Constance dropped her arms as the girl stared at her.
She must look a sight. Her hair was disheveled; the robe slipped halfway down her shoulder as she held the steaming kettle in one hand with mud splattered across her boots.
“Oh!” She squeaked.
The girl didn’t move, gazing unwaveringly at the woman, studying her.
“Hello, Aunt.”
Constance stood, unsure of what to do. Her poppies were trampled, and the morning’s paper lay in the mud along with her watering can, and the white fence drooped even lower.
She looked down at the tea kettle in her hand.
“Uh... Tea?”
The girl stayed stiller than ever, considering. “Inside?”
Constance nodded, not knowing what else to do.
“Sure.” The girl promptly hopped up and hoisted her bags up the steps.
With a sinking feeling Constance heard the screen door slam. To think, that her screen door was slammed. God save them all.
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