"This is my wife Lilly -- Mrs. Treat," said the skeleton, with a
proud wave of his hand, as he rose from his seat and gazed admiringly
at her. "This is my flower -- my queen, Mr. -- Mr. --"
"Tyler," said Toby, supplying the name which the skeleton -- or Mr.
Treat, as Toby now learned his name was -- did not know; "Tyler is
my name -- Toby Tyler."
"Why, what a little chap you are!" said Mrs. Treat, paying no
attention to the awkward little bend of the head which Toby intended
for a bow. "How small he is, Samuel!"
"Yes," said the skeleton, reflectively, as he looked Toby over from
head to foot, as if he were mentally trying to calculate exactly
how many inches high he was, "he is small; but he's got all the
world before him to grow in, an' if he only eats enough -- There,
that reminds me. Job isn't going to give him any supper, because
he didn't work hard enough."
"He won't, won't he?" exclaimed the large lady, savagely. "Oh, he's
a precious one, he is! An' some day I shall just give him a good
shakin' up, that's what I'll do. I get all out of patience with
that man's ugliness."
"An' she'll do just what she says," said the skeleton to Toby,
with an admiring shake of the head. "That woman hain't afraid of
anybody, an' I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she did give Job a
pretty rough time."
Toby thought, as he looked at her, that she was large enough to
give 'most anyone a pretty rough time, but he did not venture to
say so.
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