'I guess they be!' s' 'e. Then he thanked
me 's perlite's Deacon Sawyer's first wife, 'n' I left him 'n' his folks
in the road where I found 'em."
"Didn't you ask where he belonged nor where he was bound?"
"'T ain't my way to waste good breath askin' questions 't ain't none o'
my bis'ness," replied Mr. Slocum.
"You're right, it ain't," responded Samantha, as she slammed the
milk-pans in the sink; "'n' it's my hope that some time when you get
good and ready to ask somebody somethin' they'll be in too much of a
hurry to answer you!"
"Be they any of your folks, Miss Vildy?" asked Jabe, grinning with
delight at Samantha's ill humor.
"No," she answered briefly.
"What yer cal'latin' ter do with 'em?"
"I haven't decided yet. The boy says they haven't got any folks nor any
home; and I suppose it's our duty to find a place for 'em. I don't see
but we've got to go to the expense of takin' 'em back to the city and
puttin' 'em in some asylum."
"How'd they happen to come here?"
"They ran away from the city yesterday, and they liked the looks of this
place; that's all the satisfaction we can get out of 'em, and I dare say
it's a pack of lies."
"That boy wouldn't tell a lie no more 'n a seraphim!" said Samantha
tersely.
"You can't judge folks by appearances," answered Vilda. "But anyhow,
don't talk to the neighbors, Jabe; and if you haven't got anything
special on hand to-day, I wish you'd patch the roof of the summer house
and dig us a mess of beet greens.
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