Dig Here!

  XIV

  Sunday

  LITTLE did I think that night as I snuggled into my pillow, trying tofind a comfortable spot for my sunburned shoulder, what momentousevents the coming week held in store.

  Sunday was quiet enough, however. Eve and I both overslept but this,Aunt Cal supposed, was no more than was to be expected after our"dissipation." She had apparently forgotten that the dissipation hadbeen her own suggestion. Indeed her Sunday morning severity seemed tohave quite erased all traces of that softened mood I had imagined Idetected yesterday.

  Sunday at Aunt Cal's had its own particular ritual. Breakfast was halfan hour later, a concession to the day of rest. Or perhaps to keep usfrom getting too hungry for the cold dinner which followed church.

  I enjoyed going to the service in the little white meeting house withits faintly musty smell, which reminded me somehow of things I hadnever known but which seemed curiously a part of me nevertheless. Evesaid it was my New England ancestry coming out. Eve likes to dwell onthe fact that her own ancestors were among the pioneers who made tracksinto the western wilderness and it is to this fact that she attributesher own love of change and adventure. Though, as I pointed out to her,both our family trees probably had their roots in the same soil--sowhere was the difference really? It is a subject we never tire ofdiscussing, that of ancestry and the chances of life which made us whatwe are!

  We were talking about it that morning as we got ready for church,taking Aunt Cal as an example of what the past in the shape oftradition and custom could do for one. Aunt Cal had never spoken of herfamily or forbears but I felt practically certain that her directancestral line included a Scotch Covenanter, a Puritan preacher and oneof the judges who sentenced the Salem witches to be burned!

  Hattie May was at church in ruffled organdy and a floppy hat withHamish, looking very much like a rebellious little boy in his stiffwhite collar. I guessed that his sister had him well in hand for thetime at least.

  As we walked home in the bright midday sun, one on either side of AuntCal, I felt as if I were taking part in a scene which had happened overand over again. Perhaps not so long ago, Aunt Cal had walked like thiswith her mother on Sunday morning.

  As we approached Captain Trout's cottage, the Captain himself, dressedimmaculately as usual, rounded the corner of the house. "Good morning,ladies!" he swept off his blue visored cap, revealing the shiningexpanse of his bald head. "A beautiful day!"

  We smiled at him but Aunt Cal's only response was a stiff inclinationof the head. As she was about to sweep on, however, a light-footed grayform darted from behind the hedge, made a wild spring into the air andlanded clinging on the fringe of Aunt Cal's sash.

  "That miserable cat!" cried the Captain, darting spryly through thegate. But Eve had the kitten first and was gently detaching her sharplittle claws. The Captain's apologies were almost abject.

  "Oh, no damage, I think." Aunt Cal, unbending a little, was smiling inspite of herself. "She seems a very lively kitten."

  "Madam, I assure you my life is quite dizzy with keeping up with her.After--er--my other one----. But you know how it is--these youngthings!" He smiled expansively upon Eve and me. "For all their wildways, they do help to keep us young!"

  To this outburst Aunt Cal's only response was a murmured word that shemust be getting on. But Eve and I lingered to watch Daisy June who wasnow half way up a telegraph pole. "Captain Trout," asked Eveunexpectedly, "did you ever happen to know a man by the name of Bangs?Harry Bangs, I think he is--a barber or something?"

  The Captain shook his head. "Can't say that I have. I've met some queerbarbers in different quarters of the globe but I don't recall any bythat name. Is the gentleman a friend of yours?"

  "Oh, no," returned Eve hastily. "Not at all. We--just heard of him. Andno doubt that isn't his real name anyway!"

  "Sandy," said Eve that afternoon. We were in our room supposed to bewriting letters. But I had finished mine and Eve said she didn'tbelieve in making the Sabbath a day of work. "Sandy, I wish we couldtake just one more look for that Circe. I'm not half satisfied yet thatshe isn't somewhere about."

  "I know," I agreed, "I feel that way too. And if you can think of anyplausible excuse to give Aunt Cal for our going out there again--yousee, now that she knows about things, she's pretty sure to keep hereeye on us from now on."

  Eve nodded. "Don't I know it! But I've been wondering if we couldn't goout and make a call on that friend of hers in Old Beecham. Mrs. Viner,you know, the one who was sick. Don't you think we might take herout--oh, some soup or something? Or just drop in on her to cheer herup?"

  "Maybe she don't want to be cheered up," I said. "Maybe she enjoysbeing gloomy like Aunt Cal!"

  "Just the same I'm going to suggest it," returned Eve. "'Twon't do anyharm to try."

  "Well you'd better wait till tomorrow anyway," I said. "I don't thinkshe's in a very auspicious mood today. I guess maybe her trip toMillport yesterday had a bad effect on her."

  I was making the bed next morning when Eve came racing up the stairs."I've done it!" she said, her eyes dancing. "I asked her wouldn't shelike to have us go out and inquire about Mrs. Viner as it was such alovely cool morning and we'd enjoy the trip."

  "Well?"

  "Well, she was a little surprised. Guess she suspects some hiddenmotive but she did admit that she'd like to know how Mrs. V. is gettingalong. So she finally agreed and said she'd send her a bottle ofdandelion wine. She lives in the big stone house next the feed storeand we're not to stay more than ten minutes and not to talk anynonsense."

  "The shorter, the better for me," I said. "Invalids give me thejitters! Make me feel sorta creepy like."

  "Sandy, I'm ashamed of you! And you a missionary's daughter!"

  "What's that got to do with it? Besides you can't pretend that yourown--er--motives are purely hu--what d'you call it?"

  "Humanitarian, you mean. Well, what if they're not! I guess," she addedsagely, "hardly anybody's are when you come right down to it!"

  "You don't know my father," I said.

  "Well, I said hardly anybody. Anyway don't let's stand here arguing. Iguess you can stand a ten minute call."

  "But what shall we talk about?" I persisted.

  "Oh anything--ships or shoes or sealing wax," she returned lightly."Personally I've always found shoes a good subject when hard pressed.Middle-aged people are practically certain to have foot troubles andthey just dote on telling you about the kind of shoes they wear andwhere they got 'em and what a lot they had to pay!"

  I giggled. "But if Mrs. Viner's in bed she won't be wearing shoes."

  "Oh, I guess she isn't a permanent invalid. I guess it'll work out allright. Now do hurry and get ready so we can catch the nine-thirty bus.Aunt Cal's wrapping up the dandelion wine."

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