"My goodness, that girl's shootin' up! It wouldn't wonder me if you got
to leave these dresses down till time for school. Now if I was you I'd
make them plenty big and let her grow into 'em. Our mom always done
that."
And so the conversation went on until there were twenty lines on the
paper. The game was growing exciting and, under the stress of it, the
counting on the old settee rose above the discreet whisper it was
originally meant to be. "Twenty-one!" cried Amanda. Aunt Rebecca walked
to the door.
"What's you two up to?" she asked. "Oh, you got the hymn-book. My
goodness, what for you writin' on the hymn-book?" She turned to her
sister. "Ain't you goin' to make 'em stop that? A hymn-book ain't to be
wrote on!"
"Twenty-two," cried Phil, secure in the knowledge that his mother would
not object to their use of the book and safely confident that the aunt
could not dream what they were doing.
"What is twenty-two? Look once, Amanda," said the woman, taking the
mention of the number to refer to a hymn.
The girl opened the book. "Beulah Land," she read, a sudden compunction
seizing her.
"Ach, yes, Beulah Land--I sang that when I was a girl still. My
goodness, abody gets old quick." She sighed and returned to her sewing.
"Twenty-three, countin' the last one," prompted Phil. "Mark it down.
Gee, it's a cinch."
But Amanda looked sober. "Phil, mebbe it ain't right to make fun of her
so and count after how often she says the same thing. She looked kinda
teary when she said that about gettin' old quick."
"Ach, go on," said Philip, too young to appreciate the subtle shades of
feelings or looks. "You can't back out of it now. Gee, what's bitin'
you? It ain't four o'clock yet, and it ain't right, neither, to go back
on a promise. Anyhow, if we don't go on and count up to thirty you got
to put the worm in her bonnet--you said you would--girls are no good,
they get cold feet."
Thus spurred, Amanda resumed the game until the coveted thirty lines
were marked on the paper. Then, the goal reached, it was Phil's duty to
find a tobacco worm.
Supper at the Reist farmhouse was an ample meal. By that time the
hardest portion of the day's labor was completed and the relaxation
from physical toil made the meal doubly enjoyable. Millie saw to it
that there was always appetizing food set upon the big square table in
the kitchen. Two open doors and three screened windows looking out upon
green fields and orchards made the kitchen a cool refuge that hot
August day.