"Miss P'tricia!" Sarah stood in the doorway, indignation in the very
points of her knotted turban--"Miss P'tricia, ain't yo' never be'n tole
not to sit on beds? 'Tic'larly beds all ready fo' comp'ny!"
Patricia slipped hurriedly to her feet; but by this time Sarah had
caught sight of something else. "Land 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.
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