Joe made a somerset out of the window, and placed himself in a good listening position; Hal went out and sat on the doorstep; and Charlie crawled under the table.
"I don't see how you manage to get along with such a houseful. I always did wonder at your taking 'em."
"Oh! we do pretty well," returned Granny cheerily.
"They're growing big enough to help themselves a little. Why don't you bind Joe out to some of the farmers. Such a great fellow ought to be doing something besides racing round and getting into mischief."
Joe made a series of such polite evolutions, that Hal ran to the gate to have a good laugh without being heard.
"He's going to school," said Granny innocently. "They all begin on Monday."
"Going to school?" And Mrs. Van Wyck elevated her voice as if she thought them all deaf. "Why, I never went to school a day after I was twelve year old, and my father was a well-to-do farmer. There's no sense in children having so much book-larnin'. It makes 'em proud and stuck up, and good for nothing.
"Oh! where's that dog? Put him out! Put him out! I can't bear dogs. And the poorer people are, the more dogs they'll keep."
Joe, the incorrigible, was quite a ventriloquist for his years and size. He had just made a tremendous ki-yi, after the fashion of the most snarling terrier dog, and a kind of scrabbling as if the animal might be under Mrs. Van Wyck's feet.
"Oh, my! Take the nasty brute away. Maybe he's full of fleas or has the mange"—