At last the dishes came to an end, and Mrs. Morrison hung up the checked apron.
"Now, if you folks likes music, we got some pretty records and Mat'll be glad to work 'em fur you."
"You're coming, too?"
"I don't mind if I do, until it's time to set the bread. But I'm an early bedder, like most country folks. Now, Mattie, she'd stay up gassin' all night."
The girl frowned. "Country folks got such silly notions they fix to live by. You got to go to bed at seven so you kin git up at five, whether there's anything to git up fur or not."
"Honest, Mat, sometimes you make me think of old cousin Beggs that hadn't all her senses. If country folks didn't git up till the time you want 'em to, who'd feed the chickens?"
"Seems like most people just keep 'em so they can git up to feed 'em. Not more'n a third of 'em lays, anyhow. What tunes do you like, Mrs. Murray?"
"Won't the graphaphone wake the baby?" Jean made a last attempt to save herself and Gregory.
"He always wakes up round this time anyhow and he likes it. When he's old enough I'm goin' to git him music lessons."
"You have quite a little time to look around for a teacher! How old is he?"