The maid reflected; then she nodded.

“I’ll write to town,” she cried, in her high, clear tones.  “What brand do you like best?”

“Mitchell’s,” said Aunt Mary.  “But you can’t get those because he made ’em himself an’ sealed ’em with a lick.  Oh!” she sighed, with the accent of a starving Sybarite, “I do wish I could see him do it again!  Do you know,” she added suddenly, “he wrote me a letter and he’s goin’ to come here.”

“When?” asked Janice.

“After a while.  But you must take off your things.  That’s your room in there,” pointing toward a half-open door at the side.  “I wanted you as close as I could get you.  My, but I’ve wanted you!  I can’t tell you how much.  But a good deal—­a lot—­awfully.”

Janice went into the room that was to be hers, and hung up her hat and cloak.

When she returned Aunt Mary was looking a hundred per cent, improved already.

“Can you hum ’Hiawatha’?” she asked immediately.  “Granite, I must have suthin’ to amuse me an’ make me feel good.  Can you hum ‘Hiawatha’ an’ can you do that kind of ’sh—­sh—­sh—­’that everybody does all together at the end, you know?”

Janice smiled pleasantly, and placing herself in the closest possible proximity with the ear trumpet, at once rendered the desired morceau in a style which would have done credit to a soloist in a cafe chantant.

Aunt Mary’s lips wreathed in seraphic bliss.

“My!” she said.  “I feel just as if I was back eatin’ crabs’ legs and tails again.  No one’ll ever know how I’ve missed city life this winter but—­well, you saw Lucinda!”

The glance that accompanied the speech was mysterious but significant.  Janice nodded sympathetically.

“I hope you brought a trunk.  I ain’t a bit sure when I’ll be able to let you go,” pursued the old lady.  “I don’t believe I can let you go until I go, too.  I’ve most died here alone.”

“I brought a trunk,” Janice cried into the ear trumpet.

“I’m glad,” said Aunt Mary.  She paused, and her eyes grew wistful.

“Granite,” she asked, “do you think you could manage to do a skirt dance on the footboard?  I’m ’most wild to see some lace shake.”

Janice looked doubtfully at the footboard.  It was wide for a footboard, but narrow—­too narrow—­for a skirt dance.

“But I can do one on the floor,” she cried.

Aunt Mary’s features became suffused with heavenly joy.

“Oh, Granite!” she murmured, in accents of greatest anticipation.

The maid stood up, and, going off as far as the limits of the spacious bedroom would allow, executed a most fetching and dainty pas seul to a tune of her own humming.

“Give me suthin’ to pound with!” cried her enthusiastic audience.  “Oh, Granite, I ain’t been so happy since I was home!  Whatever you want you can have, only don’t ever leave me alone with Lucinda again.”