THE GOOD SAMARITAN
455
She was quite agile at it, leaping about, now here, now there,
once a tuck,
twic~
a tuck. Her hands moved with professional
precision. The room was very quiet.
I cleared my throat. "How do you do it?" I said.
"I learned," she said.
"You must have been here a long time," I said.
"One hundred per-cent American," she said.
"Same house?" I asked.
"Same town," she answered. "Family born and raised right
in this house."
"Nice," I murmured.
"Cousins married to keep the family name," she added.
"That's how we feel about it."
"Yes, I'm sure," I said modestly, then asked, feeling shy,
"Any connection with the Mayflower?"
Sl;le thought for a long time. "I suppose so," she said finally.
Then she looked me straight in the eye.
"Are you a citizen?" she asked.
My heart sank within me. I presumed that I was but I couldn't
remember anyone's telling me outrightthat I was. But of course I
must be. Miss Hotch and the cat glared sternly at me.
"Oh yes, yes indeedy," I said.
She surveyed me from head to toe. "Are you sure?" she said,
her eyes swooping upon me like two fat brown sparrows.
With expert swiftness I retraced the tiny foot-steps of my life.
Tricycles, trains, trees, hard luck-.-all flew by my mind's eye. With
a kind of vigorous accusation my thoughts touched each event, but
all proceeded with normal innocence. No murders, no policemen,
sicknesses all known, understood, death certificates signed.
"Oh yes," I took a deep breath, "I'm a citizen." My tone
achieved a small victory over the room.
Gracious like sunlight her smile burst forth again. The big.
cat fumbled at the rug and fell asleep.
Miss Hotch stooped down and picked up a red wool tomato
cushion which was full of small splinters of light. They were pins.
"How pretty!" I exclaimed.
She held it between thumb and fore-finger and looked at me,
"It
was my grandmother's," she said, "one hundred per-cent
American."
