Master of the Vineyard

At the thought Rosemary shuddered and her soul quailed within her. She knew that she would never dare to do it. At the critical moment her courage would fail her, and she would stay at home. Perhaps she could wear the brown gingham if it were fresh and clean, and she pinned at her throat a bow of the faded pink ribbon she had found in her mother's trunk in the attic. And, if it should happen to rain Saturday, or even look like rain, so much the better. Anyhow, she would go, even in the brown gingham. So much she decided upon.

Yet, with all her heart, she longed for the white dress, the only thing she had which even approached daintiness. An old saying came back to her in which she had found consolation many times before. "When an insurmountable obstacle presents itself, sometimes there is a way around it." And, again, "Take one step forward whenever there is a foothold and trust to God for the next."

A Bit of News

That night, at supper, Aunt Matilda electrified Grandmother with a bit of news which she had jealously kept to herself all day.

"The milkman was telling me," she remarked, with an assumed carelessness which deceived no one, "that there's company up to Marshs'."

Grandmother dropped her knife and fork with a sharp clatter. "You don't tell me!" she cried. "Who in creation is it?"

"I was minded to tell you before," Aunt Matilda resumed, with tantalising deliberation, "but you've had your nose in that fool paper all day, and whenever I spoke to you you told me not to interrupt. Literary folks is terrible afraid of bein' interrupted, I've heard, so I let you alone."

"I didn't know it was anything important," murmured Grandmother, apologetically.

"How could you know," questioned Matilda, logically, "before I'd told you what it was?"

There being no ready answer to this, Grandmother responded with a snort, which meant much or little, as one might choose. A dull red burned on her withered cheeks and she had lost interest in her supper. Only Rosemary was calm.

A Play-Actin' Person

"As I was sayin'," Matilda went on, after an aggravating silence, "there's company up to Marshs'."

"Seems to me," Grandmother grunted, "that she'd better be payin' up the calls she owes in the neighbourhood than entertainin' strangers." This shaft pierced a vulnerable spot in Matilda's armour of self-esteem, for she still smarted under Madame Marsh's neglect.