"Fresh eggs. Hm! Hm! Fresh eggs. How many? I'll see."
"A dozen if you have them."
"Well, we'll have to go and find them, little girls. Who is the other little girl?"
"My cousin," said Dimple.
"A Dallas?"
"No; her name is Florence Graham."
"Graham, Graham. A Dallas and a Graham. Come you two, then, and we'll see if we can find any eggs."
They followed Mrs. Wills through the back room into the yard. The room they passed through was very clean, and held a stove with a little tin kettle on it, a bed with a patchwork quilt, a shining little table and several chairs with flowers painted on them.
The yard was quite a curiosity, and seemed to be given up entirely to pigeons and chickens, who made a great fuss, flying up on the old woman's shoulder and pecking at her; while an old duck waddled solemnly after, giving a quack once in a while to let them know she was there.
Mrs. Wills took them to the hen-house, and told them where to look for eggs.