Page:The Star in the Window.pdf/49

Rh large, shapeless woman—short-breathed and wheezy, and with a very red face. Reba had liked to hear her laugh. When anything particularly amused Cousin Pattie, she would snort like a young pig when she drew in her breath. She was well-known in Ridgefield. Although she hadn't been there for years now, she hadn't allowed her native town to forget her. Every half-year or so, during the long intervals between her flying visits, she was in the habit of sending letters to be read out-loud to the Ladies' Society at the Congregational Church, at their Friday afternoon meetings, describing the strange sights and customs in the foreign countries which she took such delight in exploring. Cousin Pattie's letters never failed to arouse in Aunt Augusta expressions of disapproval. "My lands," she'd scoff, "I can remember when Patience Patterson worked in the mills, her folks were so poor, and now she's writing letters to the Ladies' Society about the things she's done, and the things she's seen, and calling us 'dear old home friends!' Slush!"

The letters were written in an offhand, careless style, with many dashes and underlines and unfinished sentences. They bristled with superlatives and exclamation-points, from start to finish. Steeped in the New England tradition that restraint is a virtue, the letters perplexed Reba. She didn't think them quite nice; but just as she had found their author's laughter, with the grunt in it, captivating, as a child, so the letters fascinated her. She always wished she could hear them twice.

When Cousin Pattie arrived at her Cousin David's that night, she was panting so, that she couldn't say a word for ten minutes at least. She could simply