the future might very well be allowed to take care of itself.

Later, as she did up her dinner work, Sarah cast more than one anxious
glance out of the window to where Patricia lay on the back lawn, under
the shade of the big cherry tree. Patricia's very quietness was
alarming.

Was it too much cherry pie? Or was she plotting something.

"Honey," Sarah came out on the piazza, "it's getting time for you to get
dressed for the festiv'ties."

Patricia, tickling one of Custard's long ears with a blade of grass,
smiled serenely. "But I am dressed, Sarah."

Sarah sat down heavily on the piazza bench; "I knowed it! I jest
'spicioned you-un was shore up to something!"

Patricia rolled over on her back, stretching her wiry little frame out
lazily.

"You come right 'long into dis yere house, Miss P'tricia!" Sarah rose
commandingly.

"But what for?" Patricia questioned.

"What for? If you wasn't a white child, Miss P'tricia, I'd shore say you
was onery. I's going be 'bliged to disport you to your pa, if you
continues such disbehavior."