she wrote on the back of Edith Roberts' wedding invitation after breakfast. "Could you make a rice pudding for lunch, Effa?" Gone were the days when she could have tea and lettuce and bread and butter, happy and alone with a book spread open by her plate. "And remember Mrs. Whipple likes lots of raisins in it—how any one can!"
"You need tea."
"Why, I got some on Saturday!"
"There's plenty of your kind, but Mis' Whipple won't drink that."
"Oh dear! So she won't. All right."
"Knock, knock, knock!" Carrie lilted from the door. "Tan I tum in? Effa, I wouldn't be in your way if I put some water on to heat, would I? I just thought I'd Twink my old cream waist periwinkle; it looks kind of horrid since I spilled hot chocolate on it at the Wednesday Club."
"Why don't you wait till this afternoon?" Kate suggested, looking apprehensively at Effa's glum expression.
"Tause I want to wear it dis afternoon, lady fair, dat's why! Dood reason? Now you just run along. Effa and I understand each other, don't we, Ef—Oh, mercy!"
Pots and pans crashed to the floor.
"Me's werry naughty dirl! Me didn't doe for to do it! Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo!"
