“There now, you run along out doors. I guess you and Mr. Alder will get along all right, but don’t touch anything.”
“Hello, it looks like rain. What’s the trouble, sister?”
Mr. Alder smiled and pinched her cheek, as he met Clematis at the back door.
“I tried to help,” said Clematis, drying her eyes.
“Oh, I see. You didn’t do things quite right, did you? Well, I wouldn’t fret about that. I don’t do things quite right, myself.”
Clematis smiled through her tears.
“Come on now, and help me pick some late peas for dinner. You will like that, I am sure.”
He took her hand, and soon she was happy again.
“There, you picked two quarts, and did it well, too. Now take these up to Mrs. Alder, and tell her you can shell them out, every one, without hurting a thing.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Alder, in the kitchen. “You think you can shell peas, do you? Well, take them out under the maple tree. Then I won’t have the pods all around the kitchen.”