Lavender and Old Lace

She found an old cook book of Aunt Jane's and turned over its pages with

new interest. It was in manuscript form, and seemed to represent the

culinary knowledge of the entire neighbourhood. Each recipe was duly

accredited to its original author, and there were many newspaper

clippings, from the despised "Woman's Page" in various journals.

Ruth thought it would be an act of kindness to paste the loose clippings

into Aunt Jane's book, and she could look them over as she fastened them

in. The work progressed rapidly, until she found a clipping which

was not a recipe. It was a perfunctory notice of the death of Charles

Winfield, dated almost eighteen years ago.

She remembered the various emotions old newspapers had given her when

she first came to Aunt Jane's. This was Abigail Weatherby's husband--he

had survived her by a dozen years. "I'm glad it's Charles Winfield

instead of Carl," thought Ruth, as she put it aside, and went on with

her work.

"Pantry's come," announced Winfield, a few days later; "I didn't open

it, but I think everything is there. Joe's going to bring it up."

"Then you can come to dinner Sunday," answered Ruth, smiling.

"I'll be here," returned Winfield promptly. "What time do we dine?"

"I don't know exactly. It's better to wait, I think, until Hepsey goes

out. She always regards me with more or less suspicion, and it makes me

uncomfortable."

Sunday afternoon, the faithful Joe drove up to the gate, and Hepsey

emerged from her small back room, like a butterfly from a chrysalis. She

was radiant in a brilliant blue silk, which was festooned at irregular

intervals with white silk lace. Her hat was bending beneath its burden

of violets and red roses, starred here and there with some unhappy

buttercups which had survived the wreck of a previous millinery triumph.

Her hands were encased in white cotton gloves, which did not fit.

With Joe's assistance, she entered the vehicle and took her place

proudly on the back seat, even while he pleaded for her to sit beside

him.

"You know yourself that I can't drive nothin' from the back seat," he

complained.

"Nobody's askin' you to drive nothin' from nowhere," returned Hepsey,

scornfully. "If you can't take me out like a lady, I ain't a-goin'."

Ruth was dazzled by the magnificence of the spectacle and was unable to

take her eyes away from it, even after Joe had turned around and started

down hill. She thought Winfield would see them pass his door and time

his arrival accordingly, so she was startled when he came up behind her

and said, cheerfully: "They look like a policeman's, don't they?"

"What--who?"

"Hepsey's hands--did you think I meant yours?"

"How long have you been here?"

"Nearly thirty years."

"That wasn't what I meant," said Ruth, colouring. "How long have you

been at Aunt Jane's?"