and sakes, Miss P'tricia! Ef yo' isn't
gone an' tuk Miss Julia's punchbowl--what she don't 'low no one but
herse'f to tech!"

Patricia put an arm around Sarah's waist, or rather, around as much of
it as she could encompass. "Aunt Julia wasn't in--and I wanted the very
nicest bowl I could think of. It is so perfectly lovely to have a
grandmother coming!"

There was a world of unconscious longing in Patricia's voice; no one,
not even Daddy, knew quite what the coming of her grandmother meant to
the little motherless girl. And a grandmother she had not seen since
babyhood. The coming weeks seemed to Patricia full of untold
possibilities.

"It do look pretty," Sarah admitted, as she went to smooth out the bed
covers. "'Pears like it was time yo' was gettin' your dress changed,
honey. Yo' best let me giv yo' hair a brush; seems like yo' never did
get the kinks out."

Patricia submitted with most unaccustomed patience to the finishing
touches Sarah insisted on giving her toilet. "I reckon yo'll do now,
honey," Sarah said at last.

"Only half an hour more and she'll be here, Custard," Patricia said to
the dog, sniffing inquiringly at the tips of her best shoes; "Daddy's
to meet the five-thirty train."

Patricia settled herself circumspectly in the hammock, smoothing out
her crisp white skirts. "Oh, I do wonder what she'll be like, really
I haven't even a photograph--grandmother doesn't like being
photographed--and I haven't seen her since I was three years old.
Custard, do you suppose she'll have an ear trumpet, like the Barkers'
grandmother? It's very embarrassing talking into an ear trumpet.
I rather hope she's short and--stoutish. I've been thinking over all
the people I know, and it seems to me that the short, stout ones are
mostly more good-natured than the other kinds."

Custard wagged agreeingly; he was short, and not his worst enemy could
accuse him of being thin. So far this coming of a grandmother did not
appeal to Custard; never before had he been refused a share of the
hammock; and those one or two preliminary nips he had taken at the toes
of Patricia's shiny shoes had been promptly squelched. To be talked to
and confided in was all very well, but a game of tag in the meadow
behind the house would have been a great deal more fun. Nor was Custard
quite sure what a grandmother was; he hoped it was something good to
eat.

Patricia had never known such a long half hour; she made one or two
trips down to the