"
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.
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