"Yes I can. Everybody knows it or suspects it, and we are not the only ones that have had a family quarrel. _We_ can't help our grandmother's being a horrid old skinflint."
"Oh!" Nan was about to defend her grandmother vigorously but concluded to say only: "Maybe she didn't mean to be quite so horrid as she seemed. When people get mad they say lots of things they don't mean. I know I do."
"Oh, yes, I know you do," returned Mary Lee, "but a grown-up old woman ought to do better. I hope you will when you are her age." At which sisterly reproof Nan had nothing to say. "At all events," Mary Lee continued, "I'll stand by you, Nan, and I know the boys will, too."
After Mary Lee left her, Nan reviewed the situation. If her Aunt Sarah's ire cooled she would probably be liberated the next day and her Aunt Helen would not arrive from Washington till Monday anyhow. On the other hand, if her Aunt Sarah's anger, instead of cooling should wax stronger, Nan could not expect to be free till her mother should be heard from, and that would be in not less than three days; in all probability it would be four. Nan counted on her fingers: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday; very likely Wednesday, for Aunt Sarah would hardly have her letter ready before the morning's mail. "I wish she'd send a telegram," sighed Nan, "but she'll just like to keep me here as long as she can; I've made her so hopping mad."
Nan's conscience told her that Aunt Sarah did have a right to be more than usually angry at her impertinence, but she chose to see only her own side of the case and would admit herself nothing but a martyr. True to her expectation, no supper was forthcoming and before that hour her door was securely locked on the other side. She was indeed a prisoner.
In spite of her hearty luncheon, Nan felt the pangs of hunger about the supper hour. She had a healthy appetite and, as the odor of hot biscuits stole upward from the kitchen, she realized that hers was no pleasant predicament. "Old witch aunt! Old witch aunt!" she murmured under her breath. "I don't love you one bit, so there! You are ungodly and I wish the ungodly would be overthrown, I do. I wish the peril that walketh at night would encompass you round about. I don't believe David had any more troubles than I have, when he wrote his psalms." She sat gloomily nursing her misery and feeling herself a much abused person when she was aroused by some one calling softly under her window: "Nannie, Nannie."