Blueberry pie and cheese, hot biscuit and fresh milk, and golden butter, all she wanted; surely, Sally never had any supper better than this.
The shadows were falling, and the August crickets were beginning their evening concert, when Clematis had eaten the last bit of pie on her plate.
“The Sand Man is coming, I do believe,” said Mr. Alder, as he reached over to pinch her cheek.
“Well, I don’t wonder, the trip was a long one for a little girl. You shall go right to bed, Clematis.”
Mrs. Alder took a lamp as she spoke, and led the little visitor to the stairs.
“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the skeeters bite.”
Mr. Alder called after her as she went up.
Clematis laughed. Her eyes were drooping, and her feet were heavy, as she climbed the stairs.
“There now, we’ll have you tucked in before a cat can say Jack Sprat,” said Mrs. Alder, as she unbuttoned her boots.
“Haven’t I got to fold my clothes?” asked Clematis, as Mrs. Alder began picking them up.