“Yes, ma’am,” said Ruth, and she sketched briefly the idea of the celebration on the hill-top, including the presents she and Tom were to buy in Darrowtown for the kiddies.
“My soul and body!” exclaimed the farmer’s wife. “That lady, Mis’ Steele, don’t know what she’s runnin’ into, does she, Father?”
“I reckon not,” chuckled Mr. Caslon, wagging his head.
“But you won’t mind? You’ll let us have the children?” asked Ruth, anxiously.
“Why——” Mrs. Caslon looked at the old gentleman. But he was shaking all over with inward mirth.
“Do ’em good, Mother—do ’em good,” he chuckled—and he did not mean the fresh air children, either. Ruth could see that.
“It’ll be a mortal shame,” began Mrs. Caslon, again, but once more her husband interrupted:
“Don’t you fuss about other folks, Mother,” he said, gravely. “It’ll do ’em good—mebbe—as I say. Nothin’ like tryin’ a game once by the way. And I bet twelve little tykes like these ’uns will keep that Steele man hoppin’ for a while.”
“But his poor wife——”
“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Caslon,” Ruth urged, but wishing to laugh, too. “We girls will take care of the kiddies, and Mrs. Steele sha’n’t be bothered too much.”