A dim notion was
growing up in her mind that the fact that she had never done a thing was
no proof that she couldn't.
"I'll show you," said Uncle Henry. He reached down a couple of ears from
a big yellow cluster hanging on the wall, and he and Betsy shelled them
into the popper, popped it full of snowy kernels, buttered it, salted
it, and took it back to the table.
It was just as she was eating her first ambrosial mouthful that the door
opened and a fur-capped head was thrust in. A man's voice said:
"Evenin', folks. No, I can't stay. I was down at the village just now,
and thought I'd ask for any mail down our way." He tossed a newspaper
and a letter on the table and was gone.
The letter was addressed to Elizabeth Ann and it was from Aunt Frances.
She read it to herself while Uncle Henry read the newspaper. Aunt
Frances wrote that she had been perfectly horrified to learn that Cousin
Molly had not kept Elizabeth Ann with her, and that she would never
forgive her for that cruelty. And when she thought that her darling was
at Putney Farm ... ! Her blood ran cold. It positively did! It was too
dreadful. But it couldn't be helped, for a time anyhow, because Aunt
Harriet was really VERY sick. Elizabeth Ann would have to be a dear,
brave child and endure it as best she could. And as soon ... oh, as soon
as ever she COULD, Aunt Frances would come and take her away from them.
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