"
"Jane would love it. She likes to work with Miranda--she says
Miranda's such a nice lady. Do you think she is, Paul?"
"I'm thinking about other things just now."
"I don't--There's mother. Goodness, Miranda's got the cloth on!"
And away sped the child.
To Patience's astonishment, nothing was said at supper, either of Uncle
Paul's letter, or the wonderful things it was to lead to. Mr. Shaw
kept his wife engaged with parish subjects and Pauline appeared lost in
thoughts of her own. Patience fidgeted as openly as she dared. Of all
queer grown-ups--and it looked as though most grown-ups were more or
less queer--father was certainly the queerest. Of course, he knew
about the letter; and how could he go on talking about stupid,
uninteresting matters--like the Ladies' Aid and the new hymn books?
Even the first strawberries of the season passed unnoticed, as far as
he was concerned, though Mrs. Shaw gave Patience a little smiling nod,
in recognition of them.
"Mother," Pauline exclaimed, the moment her father had gone back to his
study, "I've been thinking--Suppose we get Hilary to pretend--that
coming home is coming to a _new_ place? That she is coming to visit
us? We'll think up all the interesting things to do, that we can, and
the pretty places to show her.
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