ove that Lucy was as yet very young and had a great deal to learn in
this world.

That troublesome worry over what Geraldine would think nerved her to
make a protest in this instance.

"Now, Aunt C'rilla," she pleaded, "you're surely not going to take
that funny old basket to Pembroke this time--Christmas Day and all."

"'Deed and 'deed I am," returned Aunt Cyrilla briskly, as she put it
on the table and proceeded to dust it out. "I never went to see Edward
and Geraldine since they were married that I didn't take a basket of
good things along with me for them, and I'm not going to stop now. As
for it's being Christmas, all the more reason. Edward is always real
glad to get some of the old farmhouse goodies. He says they beat city
cooking all hollow, and so they do."

"But it's so countrified," moaned Lucy Rose.

"Well, I am countrified," said Aunt Cyrilla firmly, "and so are you.
And what's more, I don't see that it's anything to be ashamed of.
You've got some real silly pride about you, Lucy Rose. You'll grow
out of it in time, but just now it is giving you a lot of trouble."

"The basket is a lot of trouble," said Lucy Rose crossly. "You're
always mislaying it or afraid you will. And it does look so funny to
be walking through the streets with that big, bulgy basket hanging on
your arm."

"I'm not a mite worried about its looks," returned Aunt Cyrilla
calmly. "As for its being a trouble, why, maybe it is, but I have
that, and other people have the pleasure of it. Edward and Geraldine
don't need it--I know that--but there may be those that will. And if
it hurts your feelings to walk 'longside of a countrified old lady
with a countrified basket, why, you can just fall behind, as it were."

Aunt Cyrilla nodded and smiled good-humouredly, and Lucy Rose, though
she privately held to her own opinion, had to smile too.

"Now, let me see," said Aunt Cyrilla reflectively, tapping the snowy
kitchen table with the point of her plump, dimpled forefinger, "what
shall I take? That big fruit cake for one thing--Edward does like my
fruit cake; and that cold boiled tongue for another. Those three mince
pies too, they'd spoil before we got back or your uncle'd make himself
sick eating them--mince pie is his besetting sin. And that little
stone bottle full of cream--Geraldine may carry any amount of style,
but I've yet to see her look down on real good country cream, Lucy
Rose; and another bottle of my raspberry vinegar. That