“In the morning, that second one put a toad in his new uncle’s pocket, and Emmy broke his specs. Then Meetie he dropped his watch. They used his razor to cut the lawn with. And then they took him down to the creek to go fishing, and they put the fish in Uncle’s silk hat, and and–––”
“Stop!” implored Silvia, who was now in tears. “Uncle Issachar believes them 247 mine! Ours! And that I brought them up! Oh, why did we ever go away?”
“Oh, pshaw,” exclaimed Huldah comfortingly, “he said you had brung them up fine; that they were no mollycoddles or Lizzie boys, and he didn’t suppose you had so much sense as to leave them natural.”
“A left-handed one for mudder,” laughed Beth.
“He must be a very peculiar man––ready for the asylum, I should say,” commented Rob.
“He would have been if he’d stayed any longer, or else I would have been,” declared Huldah.
“Couldn’t you make them behave, someway?” asked Silvia.
“Well, at first I tried to, and every time I pinched one of ’em when the old gent wasn’t looking, or knocked ’em down when I got ’em alone, they would threaten to tell 248 who they was, and then when I seen how your uncle liked the way they acted, I just let ’em go it, head on. And seeing as how they each brung you five thousand, I’ve treated ’em best I know how. They’re worth it, now. They done one thing more that was awful. Could you stand it to hear?” turning to Silvia.
“Please, Silvia,” implored Rob.
“Well,” argued Silvia faintly. “I suppose we might as well know the worst.”