I've always wanted t'
meet with him, an' say--I wouldn't ha' missed him for a farm."
"Is that so!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, entering the room at this moment
with the tea-cloth, "well, now--you jest put 'im down--you jest put that
bird back again, Spider Connolly!"
"Yes, ma'am," quoth the Spider, all abashed humility.
"What you doin' with it, anyway?" she demanded, elbows jutted ominously;
"it's lost a eye, an' a cat got it once an' sp'iled it some, but I
treasure it fer reasons o' sentiment, an' if you think you c'n steal
it--"
"Not 'im, ma'am, not 'im!" piped the Old Un from the doorway, "it ain't
the pore lad's fault. It's Joe, blame it all on to Joe--Joe's got a bad
'eart, ma'am, a black, base-'earted perisher is Joe--so no jam for Joe,
ma'am, an' only one slice o' cake."
Here Ravenslee hastened to explain, whereupon Mrs. Trapes's grimness
abated, and her bristling elbows subsided; and now, perceiving how the
abashed Spider, meeting her eye, flushed, plucked at his cuffs, and
shuffled his feet, she reached out to pat his broad and drooping
shoulder.
Pages:
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317