Part 16 (1/2)
Ethan preserved an embarra.s.sed silence.
”Awful means that which inspires awe. Now, your feeling about French grammar does not inspire awe. French is all very well, but it's a good thing sometimes to consider your English. You couldn't have a better task than _that_ in the holidays.”
”Shall I carry your coat?” said the child, willing to change the topic, and laying his hand on the thin wrap she had on her arm.
”This,” said his grandmother, with the Tallmadge insistence on French still rankling, apparently--”this is not a 'cut,' as you call it; and that person approaching is not walking in the 'rud.' You are losing some of your tw.a.n.g, but thy speech still bewrayeth thee. Perhaps learning to talk like a Gano, since you are one, would be a fitting task for the holidays here. Say 'co-o-at.'” He repeated the word in a shamefaced way.
”Now 'road.' Yes, that's right.” She drew back suddenly and faced about.
”Some one's coming in!” she whispered, hurriedly, as who should say ”An enemy is at the gate.”
She stalked behind the house with Ethan at her side, while Aunt Valeria went forward and greeted the visitor.
”Why, it's the same gentleman who has been here twice before,” Ethan observed, looking back.
”Are you _sure_?” said Mrs. Gano, stopping short. ”Was that Tom Rockingham _again_?”
”I don't know his name,” answered Ethan, wondering what awful sin Tom Rockingham could have committed.
”Little, insignificant-looking man?” demanded his grandmother.
”He wasn't very big,” admitted the child. ”It's the one that walked home from church, as far as the corner, with Aunt Valeria and me last Sunday.”
”Upon my word!” she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”Has Tom Rockingham begun that?”
”I didn't hear his name.”
”A man”--she made a gesture of contempt--”very careless about his linen?”
”I didn't notice.”
”--without gloves? Hands rather grimy--”
”Aunt Valeria said he was a great scholar.”
”A great fiddlestick! Of course it's Tom Rockingham.”
This was evidently a most exciting character, and in any case it was pleasant to have a visitor who didn't merely leave cards and go away, as all the others did.
”Aren't we going in to see him?”
”No, certainly not, unless he stays too long.”
She threw back her head in that way of hers. They walked up and down the back veranda in silence, Ethan as well aware as if she had poured forth torrents that his grandmother's ire was growing with every moment.
Presently she dropped his hand, and going to the door, she called, in an unmistakable tone:
”Valeria!--_Valeria!_”
”Yes, mother, in a moment,” came from the direction of the parlor.
Mrs. Gano waited for some seconds with sparkling eyes, then: