“Lide's goin' with Ed Church. She's over to Jenn Ruple's now; she and Jen are goin' to choose up for the spellin' bee. But she'll be back in time, and Ed Church is comin' for her at half-past seven.”
Jim Lee's face showed that he didn't like Ed Church He said nothing for five minutes, and pulling off his kip-skin boots began to give them a coat of tallow.
“Where's Ezra?” at last he asked. Ezra was the heir of the house of Lee. His age was eleven; he was twenty.
“Ezra's down cellar sortin' over that bin of peach blows,” said Aunt Ann, busy with her mince-me; and chopping-bowl; “they'd started to rot.”
“I wanted to send him to the Corners for the mail,” suggested Jim Lee, as he kneaded the wax tallow into the instep of his boot to soften the leather.
“You'd better hitch up the colt a mite early,” answered
Aunt Ann, “and go to the Corners before we start to the spellin'. Ezra's got to churn as soon; he's done the peachblows.”