Then locking the door, and closing
the windows, she made her way down the avenue toward the parsonage.
She felt unusually lonely, and the parson's wife was always glad to see
her.
The walk was a long one, and when Aunt Judith had reached the parsonage,
she paused for a moment to enjoy the light breeze before opening the
little gate. "I saw you coming," said a pleasant voice, "and I guess you
felt the heat on the way. Come in, and sit down under the big maple
trees. It's cooler than it is in the house."
As she spoke, the parson's wife took Aunt Judith's arm, and led her to a
rustic seat, and seating herself beside her, commenced to talk of bits
of parish news.
Aunt Judith's mind was far away with Rose, and her answers became more,
and more wide of the mark.
"I think the boys of the choir sing BEAUTIFULLY," chirped the little
woman, "but they really should have new cotta's, but the society feels
that it really can't afford it."
"Yes'm," said Aunt Judith.
"And there are some that think we ought to have an organist. Mrs.
Bingley volunteers to play until we're able to hire some one, but she
isn't much of a player. She says she can't play any music unless it's
written in ONE flat. She says it's the only key she knows. She says two
flats make her uneasy, but THREE flats makes her simply WILD!"
"Well, if I DON'T let them out of the coop they'll be sick, and if I DO
let them out, they're likely to get lost."
The parson's wife stared uneasily at Aunt Judith.
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