It also developed that she had been permitted to go thus far only in advance, to await the coming of her mother and Harry—but she did not take the trouble to tell me this. I asked her to go with me to the drugstore for cones. She hesitated a moment as if she were remembering something—and then declined to go, but she said, “I thank you for asking me.”
On my return from the post office, I observed the little yellow dress was still on the bench—and, as Karen had been so nice about it, I stepped into the drugstore and bought a couple of cones, aiming to pick her up on my way home. Then, too late, I realized my mistake. The children saw me with the cones as they turned the corner with their mother enroute to the program on the Fair grounds in the next block. With apologies, I gave the cones to Marjorie, thinking to make her jointly responsible for messing up her children.
Well, the next day when we were getting cones at the drugstore, I asked Karen if she had gotten her new dress soiled with the cone last evening. Karen laughed—and said, “You know something. Daddy and mamma ate the cones—but mamma gave me one bite.” I did not hear from Harry on this score, but assumed matters had been properly taken care of. The moral is: Never give a kid a messy treat after mama has cleaned it up for public appearance.
ANOTHER BRIGHT LITTLE STAR The little Fresno, California miss was ushered into my presence. My sister then went back outside to continue with the watering of her flowers. Standing off at a reasonable distance, Connie Jean Moser, from across the street at 1010 Ferger, said, “Aunt Nannie told me to come in and get acquainted with Uncle John.” Attracted at once by the little visitor’s proud carriage, pleasant expression of face, and trim little body not burdened with too many clothes, I told her that for me this should be a real pleasure.
Little girls, from three to six, in all their innocence, have always made a hit with me. This is not to say I do not appreciate them when they are older. But in general they lose a lot when they get smart. And here now was beauty and apparently innocence at its best. A little reserved at first, Connie Jean declined my invitation for her to sit with me on the sofa, where I had been writing on a tab. She climbed into a chair, twisted, and got settled with her little bare feet sticking straight out at me. She told me her name, her age, and where She lived—and that she had a boy friend named David.