Then at noon Aunt Frances was waiting there, a patient, never-failing
figure, to walk home with her little charge; and in the afternoon the
same thing happened over again. On the way to and from school they
talked about what had happened in the class. Aunt Frances believed in
sympathizing with a child's life, so she always asked about every little
thing, and remembered to inquire about the continuation of every
episode, and sympathized with all her heart over the failure in mental
arithmetic, and triumphed over Elizabeth Ann's beating the Schmidt girl
in spelling, and was indignant over the teacher's having pets. Sometimes
in telling over some very dreadful failure or disappointment Elizabeth
Ann would get so wrought up that she would cry. This always brought the
ready tears to Aunt Frances's kind eyes, and with many soothing words
and nervous, tremulous caresses she tried to make life easier for poor
little Elizabeth Ann. The days when they had cried they could neither of
them eat much luncheon.

After school and on Saturdays there was always the daily walk, and there
were lessons, all kinds of lessons--piano-lessons of course, and nature-
study lessons out of an excellent book Aunt Frances had bought, and
painting lessons, and sewing lessons, and even a little French, although
Aunt Frances was not very sure about her own pronunciation. She wanted
to give the little girl every possible advantage, you see. They were
really inseparable. Elizabeth Ann once said to some ladies calling on
her aunts that whenever anything happened in school, the first thing she
thought of was what Aunt Frances would think of it.

"Why is that?" they asked, looking at Aunt Frances, who was blushing
with pleasure.

"Oh, she is so interested in my school work! And she UNDERSTANDS me!"