She felt
as if strange things were about to happen. The parson was standing
awkwardly. He wondered whether he ought to go; Aunt Mary Ellen smoothed
her brown hair with both hands, sat down, and pointed to his chair.
"Sit a spell," she said. "I guess I shall have something to talk over
with you."
The parson sat down. He tried to put his fingers together, but they
trembled, and he clasped his hands instead.
"It's a long time since we've seen you in Tiverton," he began.
"It would have been longer," she answered, "but I felt as if my niece
needed me."
Here Isabel, to her own surprise, gave a little sob, and then another.
She began crying angrily into her handkerchief.
"Isabel," said her aunt, "is there a fire in the kitchen?"
"Yes," sobbed the girl.
"Well, you go out there and lie down on the lounge till you feel
better. Cover you over and don't be cold. I'll call you when there's
anything for you to do."
Tall Isabel rose and walked out, wiping her eyes. Her little aunt sat
mistress of the field. For many minutes there was silence, and the
clock ticked. The parson felt something rising in his throat. He blew
his nose vigorously.
"Mary Ellen"--he began. "But I don't know as you want me to call you
so!"
"You can call me anything you're a mind to," she answered calmly.
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