"That's right, mother!" piped a weak, small voice from beneath the crib, as Eli poked his head out. "The deacon is all to blame!"
"Oh, there you be!" she snapped, as she pounced on him and pulled him forth. "Now you git up here and march home!"
Having pulled him to his feet, she took a firm grip on his ear and led him from the stall and out of the stable.
CHAPTER XXIII.
IN THE NOOK.
That afternoon was to be long remembered by all the visitors at Merry Home. It passed pleasantly in spite of the fact that Hans insisted on "rending a selection" on the flute and seemed rather disappointed and downcast when they begged him not to play any more.
"Der musig haf no heart for you," he complained. "Maype you vould like a popular song to sing to me. I vill gif you 'Efrybody Vorks Poor Vather.' Yes? No?"
"Don't yez do it, Hans," entreated Barney. "We have suffered enough already."