"Oh, it's you, is it?" she said in a tone so very unpleasant
that Pearl thought she must have expected someone else.
"Yes'm," Pearl said meekly. "Who were ye expectin'?"
Mrs. Motherwell stopped pumping for a minute and looked
at Pearl.
"Why didn't ye git here earlier?" she asked.
"Well," Pearl began, "I was late gettin' started by reason
of the washin' and the ironin', and Jimmy not gettin'
back wid the boots. He went drivin' cattle for Vale the
butcher, and he had to have the boots for the poison ivy
is that bad, and because the sugar o' lead is all done
and anyway ma don't like to keep it in the house, for
wee Danny might eat it--he's that stirrin' and me not
there to watch him now."
"Lord! what a tongue you have! Put down your things and
go out and pick up chips to light the fire with in the
morning."
Pearl laid her bird-cage on a chair and was back so soon
with the chips that Mrs. Motherwell could not think of
anything to say.
"Now go for the cows," she said, "and don't run them
home!"
"Where will I run them to then, ma'am?" Pearl asked
innocently.
"Good land, child, have I to tell you everything? Folks
that can't do without tellin' can't do much with, I say.
Bring the cows to the bars, and don't stand there staring
at me."
When Pearl dashed out of the door, she almost fell over
the old dog who lay sleepily snapping at the flies which
buzzed around his head. He sprang up with a growl which
died away into an apologetic yawn as she stooped to pat
his honest brown head.
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