Charlie Sands came over to her and stood looking down at her.
"Aunt Tish," he said. "I believe you. I believe you firmly. I shall not even ask about a young man named Culver, who went to get our marriage license list at the Court House this afternoon and has not been seen since. But I want to bring a small matter to your attention. That policeman had not registered."
He then turned and went toward the door.
"But I did, dear Aunt Letitia," he said and was gone.
Tish came to see me the next afternoon, bringing the paper, which contained a glowing account of her gift to the local Red Cross of a fine ambulance. An editorial comment spoke of her public spirit, which for so many years had made her a conspicuous figure in all civic work.
"The city," it finished, "can do with many like our Miss 'Tish' Carberry."
But Tish showed no exultation. She sat in a rocking chair and rocked slowly.
"Read the next editorial, Lizzie," she said, in a low voice.
I have it before me now, cut out rather raggedly, for I confess I was far from calm when I did it.
