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Show 55 "Sister," Miss Mary was suddenly agitated, "what was that poem you recited at commencement time?" Oh no, thought Dyna. A recital by Aunt Grace could go on and on! "Why, I haven't thought of that for years," Aunt Grace sat back and smiled. "Maryville, Tennessee. Nineteen and fourteen. I was only sixteen years old." "A mere child," Dyna clucked. Already Aunt Grace had forgotten all about candle-dripping. A recitation was inevitable. "'Thanatopsis,*that's what it was!" She turned to Miss Mary who looked equally eager. "Sooooo . . . liiive . . . " Dyna's old mums intoned like they were saying high mass, "that when thy summons comes to join that innumerable caravan . . . which moves to that mysterious realm, where each shall take his chamber in the silent halls of death . . ." They paused for breath and looked at one another. Mercy on us, Dyna thought, they've forgotten the rest! "Sustained and soothed," continued Miss Mary, scattering s's everywhere. ' Aunt Grace put up her hand and shook her head. "No, no, wait, Mary. That line comes later." A brief disagreement ensued, with Dyna looking from one to the other. Finally, Miss Mary resorted to sign language, every movement strong with emphasis. "I'll look it up," Aunt Grace settled things once and for all the way she usually did. "You remind me. Before we go to bed, I'll look it up." Dyna held her bottle at arm's length to admire her work. She was the only one accomplishing anything, that was certain. "How come you guys never read that to me?" "William Cullen Bryant?" Aunt Grace frowned over her glasses. "Maybe you weren't old enough." "You thought I was old enough for Dickens, huh? Fagin and all that thievin1." Dyna winked at Miss Mary. "Now, Dyna, no one's enjoyed our library like you have. I've told you before, those books are yours when we pass on. Isn't that right, Sister?" |