Mrs. Van Wyck gathered up her silk gown,—a great staring brocade in blue and gold, that might have been her grandmother's, it looked so ancient in style.
"I've come over on some business," she began, with an important air and a mysterious shake of the head.
Granny sat down, and took Dot upon her lap. Kit and Charlie peered out of their hiding-places, and Joe perched himself upon the window-sill.
"How do you ever manage with all this tribe?" And Mrs. Van Wyck gave each of them a scowl.
"There's a houseful," returned Granny, "but we do get along."
"Tough scratching, I should say."
"And poor pickings the chickens might add, if they had such an old hen," commented Joe soto voce. "There'd be something worse than clucking."
Hal couldn't help laughing. Mrs. Van Wyck was so ruffled and frilled, so full of ends of ribbon about the head and neck, that she did look like a setting hen disturbed in the midst of her devotions.
"Them children haven't a bit of manners," declared Mrs. Van Wyck, in sublime disregard of syntax. "Trot off, all of you but Florence: I have something to say to your grandmother."