Benny’s face brightened. Bread and cold milk on a hot day was a much more appetizing prospect than bread and molasses, and the little boy promptly ran down to tell his sister.
“Hurry up, Kit, and set the table; we’re going to have bread and milk. Where’s a tin bucket?”
Pale little Kitty put down her paper dolls with alacrity, and before long the little family were seated at the table. Slowly and reluctantly the children disposed of the last drop of milk in their bowls.
“If we lived in the country, we could have this every night,” Benny said.
“What has set you harping so on the country?” asked Mrs. Jordan.
“Why, I don’t know. I reckon it’s hearing the men talk down at the wharf. One of ’em said this morning: ‘There’s no money for farmers nowadays. A man can’t make anything in the country.’ ‘He can always make a living,’ said the other, ‘and a pretty good one, too. How’d you like your wife and babies to be in the city this weather? Why, sir, there’s lots of folks would give anything to see their children tumble ’round on the grass under such trees as you’ve got and have all the good milk they wanted to drink. I think we country people are pretty well off, myself. We don’t make a fortune, but we’ve got a good living right handy.’”
Benny unconsciously imitated the man, and his mother laughed.
“You surely took in that conversation, Benny. I’d like well enough to live under the green trees again. It’s what your father always planned to do some day when he had made enough to buy a little place.”
Benny looked sober. He always felt as if he wanted to carry out his father’s plans, and this looked like a very hard one.
“You make it worth while, and we’ll go,” said his mother, smiling. “Now I must go back to my buttonholes and you children can clear away the dishes.”