“Why, the house!” said Natalie.  “Look at it.  It’s horrified at something.  I think it must be the mess the roses have made.  Can’t you see what it’s saying?  It’s saying, ‘Well, I never!’”

Mrs. Leighton laughed.

“It does look sort of funny,” she said.

Just then old mammy put her gray head out of the door to hear what the talk was about.  She wore glasses, as becoming to her age, but peered over them when she wanted to see anything.

“What youans larffin’ abeout?” she demanded.

“We’re laughing at the house,” cried Natalie.  “It’s got its mouth open and the funniest look on its face.  Come and see.”

“Mo’ nonsense,” grunted mammy and slammed the door.

Then it was that the house seemed to withdraw suddenly into the primness of virginal white paint.

“That’s what it wanted,” cried Natalie, excitedly—­“just to get its mouth shut.  O Mother, isn’t it an old dear?”

Stub Hollow had looked upon the new arrivals at Aunt Jed’s as summer people until they began to frequent Stub Hollow’s first and only Presbyterian church.  Natalie, who like all people of charm, was many years younger inside than she was out, immediately perceived that the introduction of mammy in her best Sunday turban into that congregation would do a great deal toward destroying its comatose atmosphere.  Like many another New England village church, Stub Hollow’s needed a jar and needed it badly.  But it wasn’t the church that got the jar.

Upon the introduction of Gip into the family circle, it was conceded that there was no longer any reason why mammy should resign the benefits of communal worship.  Consequently, with many a grunt,—­for good food and better air had well nigh doubled her proportions,—­mammy climbed from the veranda to the back seat of the cart and filled it.  For a moment it seemed doubtful whether mammy or Gip would hold the ground, but Gip finally won out by clawing rapidly at the pebbly road and getting the advantage of the down grade.

Neither Natalie nor Mrs. Leighton ever knew just where it was they lost mammy, but it couldn’t have been far from the gate; for just as they were dipping into the wood half-way down the hill, Mrs. Leighton happened to glance back, missed mammy, and saw her stocky form waddling across the lawn toward the back of the house.  Mrs. Leighton was also young inside.  She said nothing.

When finally they drew up, with the assistance of three broad-shouldered swains, at the church, Natalie looked back and gasped,

“Mammy!  Mother, where’s mammy?”

“You don’t suppose she could have got off to pick flowers, do you?” asked Mrs. Leighton, softly.

“Why, Mother!” cried Natalie.  “Do you know that mammy may be killed?  We’ll have to go straight back.”

“No, we won’t,” said Mrs. Leighton, flushing at her levity before the very portals of the church.  “She’s all right.  I looked back, and saw her crossing the lawn.”