need n’t expect any one to pay special attention to me.”
“Why, I ’ll come back, cousin Joan, as soon as I can,” said Amy, pleasantly; “and first, I’m going to get the water.”
In a moment Amy had returned, with the glass on a little brass tray, in the centre of which was a small fringed napkin. A plate with two crisp biscuits, and the glass saucer with the despised apple sauce were also on the tray. She knew her cousin Joan well enough to be sure that in the end she would find the sauce an agreeable addition to her luncheon.
“You ’ll call me, won’t you, if you want anything else,” she said, as she left the room. “I ’ll leave the door open.”
“I’m not likely to trouble you,” said cousin Joan. “I hardly ever want anything.”
Amy, in spite of her desire to be respectful, could not help smiling at this remark of the invalid’s, remembering how often, in the course of the day, she was apt to be called to the sick-room.
“Yet, after all,” she said, “cousin Joan is not so very sick. It’s only her eyes, and I believe that she does n’t suffer particularly from them. I’m sure she has a very good appetite. If she had n’t, I should have less to do.”
The peas were shelled, the potatoes were in the granite saucepan, and Amy had just lit the wicks in the kerosene stove in the small kitchen, when again she heard her name called.
