The table-cloth whisked into the kitchen, followed by the complaining voice, and soon after his mother came to the door and called him.
"Have you fed the calves, Joseph?"
"Yes'm."
"And filled the chip-basket?"
"Almost."
"Then hurry, my son; it is nearly school-time."
"I say, ma," he began, "can't I go barefooted? It's plenty warm, and lots of the boys do."
"Why, no, child," she answered. "I told you the other day not to think of such a thing for another month at least. Put on your shoes immediately, and don't let me hear another word about it. It's of no use to tease."
Jode knew that, perfectly. In all the ten years of his varied experiences, it never had been of any use. Now, although the feet that slipped back into the red stockings and stout shoes were very loath to go, they went slowly but surely in.
"Wish't I was an Indian," he said, as he went through the orchard, balancing his geography on his head and swinging his lunch-basket, while the dog frisked around him. He had a queer way of talking to himself. "I could stay out-doors all the time then, and never have to go to school. Indians have a better time than anybody, 'thout it's dogs. O Penny, ain't you glad you're a dog?"