“Oh, please, Huldah,” I coaxed. “Let us hear everything. I’ve always told you my life’s secrets, and I don’t mind what you or the boys told him.”
“Well, I suppose what he was going to tattle was that I thought the old gent might feel hurt, ’cause none of them was named after him, so I told him Polly’s middle name was Issachar.”
“Why, Huldah,” remonstrated Silvia.
“Well, he’s always wanted a middle name, and he’s never been baptized, so you can stick it in and have him ducked 242 next Sunday and then that will square that. ‘Them Three’ stuck to him like a hive of bees, and I was scairt for fear they’d let the cat out of the bag, and so long as they had put it in, I thought it might just as well stay in, but they were just as slick as grease in all they said. They’ll hang in that rogues’ gallery yet.”
“I suppose they were pretty––strenuous,” said Silvia with a sigh.
“They was more than that. The first afternoon right after dinner when he was sitting on the front porch, sleeping peaceful and snoring, that there one––” pointing to Pythagoras––
“Tattle-tale!” he began, but I administered a cuff and he subsided into surprised silence.
