"It is shameful," I said. "Aunt Hetty has been here so long that she
does not know her place. I shall not be disturbed by her moods."

So, holding my head high, I put on my most dignified manner and went to
the kitchen. Aunt Hetty, in a blue gingham gown, with a gay kerchief
tied on her head, was slowly and pensively rocking herself back and
forth in her low chair. She took no notice of me whatever.

"Aunt Hetty!"

No answer.

"Aunt Hetty!" This time I spoke louder.

Still she rocked back and forth, apparently as deaf as a post. I grew
desperate, and, going up to her, put my hand on her shoulder, saying:

"_Aunt Hetty_, aren't we to have our dinner? The fire seems to be out."

She shook off my hand and slowly rose, looking glum and preoccupied.

"Didn't hear no orders for dinner, Miss Alice."

"Now, Aunt Hetty," I remonstrated, "why will you be so horrid? You know
I am the housekeeper when mother is away, and you're going to spoil
everything, and make her wish she hadn't gone. _How_ can I manage if you
won't help? Come, be good," I pleaded.

But nothing moved her from her stony indifference, and I went back to
grandmamma in despair. I was about to pour all my woes in her ear, but a