"There, hold it a
while," said she, "and listen to it tick." Mr. Fairbanks fumbled in his
pocket-book and drew out a great silver dollar. "There," said he, "you
can have that to spend when you get well."
Willy pulled his mother's skirt. "Mother," he whispered.
"What say?"
"Can't I pop some corn for him?"
"By-and-by." Mrs. Rose smoothed the Dickey boy's hair; then she bent
down and kissed him again. She had fairly made room for him in her
stanch, narrow New England heart.
A SWEET-GRASS BASKET
Nancy and Flora were going through the garden, stepping between the
squash and tomato vines. Nancy's mother stood in the kitchen door
looking after them.
"Mind you don't hit your clothes on the tomatoes!" she called out.
"No, we won't," they answered back. After they had passed the last bean
pole they walked single file along the foot-path down the hill. The tall
timothy-grass rustled up almost to their waists. Flora went first, with
a light little tilt of her starched skirts. Nancy trudged briskly and
sturdily after. Nancy's old buff calico dress, which had been let down
for her every spring since she was seven years old, and marked its age,
like a tree, by rings of a brighter color where the old tucks had been,
did not look very well beside Flora's pretty new blue cambric. Neither
did Nancy's old Shaker bonnet show to advantage beside Flora's hat,
with its beautiful bows and streamers; but Nancy was not troubled about
that.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171