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AUNT GRENERTSEN’S APPLES 59
even; just some stupid mignonette and violets
and other flowers that smelled sweet — as if
they were any good! No, truly, Aunt
Grenert-sen’s garden was not very pleasant.
For that matter, neither was she. She was
not really his aunt and he was glad of it; but
she was Mother’s aunt, and so all the family
called her Aunt Grenertsen, just as Mother did.
Aunt Grenertsen had lived in the little house
on King Street for an age, ever since he could
remember; and everything she had was very
old-fashioned. There was a cuckoo clock, and a
blue glass jar with dried rose-leaves in; and on
the window sill an old gray cat blinked and
purred among the plants.
Aunt Grenertsen was difficult to talk with —
so contrary, somehow, even if not really cross,
that it was very tiresome. She wasn’t the least
bit like Uncle Isaac of Kingthorpe, who was
always kind and gentle, always pleasant. Oh,
dear, no! Aunt Grenertsen wasn’t like Uncle
Isaac; far, far from it!
Suppose, for instance, that he went to her
house for a little call, 5s he often did, for Mother
liked him to go — and Aunt Grenertsen
sometimes had exceedingly good cakes which she
called "half moons"; and just now there were
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