“Yer aig will pop an’ bust, fust thing ye know,” said aunt Dely, the politic.
And Eudora forthwith came briskly out to investigate an egg which she was roasting in the ashes, the kind present of Mrs. Purvine. The hen that laid it was stalking about the room in unconscious bereavement. Now and then there was a shrill piping from a basket on the floor, from which overflowed, as it were, a downy collection of fall “deedies,” hatched too late to stand any chance of weathering the winter except by being reared into those obnoxious animals, house-chickens. A matronly feathered head would occasionally be thrust out with a remonstrant cluck, and the assemblage, miraculously escaping the heedless human foot, would climb into the basket, and there would ensue a soft sound of snuggling down and drowsy pipings. All of which excited sister Eudory almost to ecstasy.
Mrs. Purvine experienced less complacence. “Ef ennybody ain’t got no baby, an’ feels like adoptin’ one ter take trouble about, jes’ let ’em git ’em a settin’ o’ aigs an’ hatch out some fall deedies. They’ll be ez much trouble ez twins!”
“Whyn’t you-uns stay ter the meetin’ ter the church-house, Eudory?” demanded Alethea.
The little girl, kneeling on the hearth, anxiously adjusted a broom straw on the egg to see if it were done,—when, according to culinary tradition, the straw would turn; she glanced up with her charming smile showing her snaggled little teeth.
“’Gustus Tom wouldn’t bide,” she declared.
“Waal, now, ’Gustus Tom oughter begin ez early ez he kin,” said Mrs. Purvine. “Sech ez ’Gustus Tom hev a mighty wrastle with Satan ’fore they git grace. ’Gustus Tom hev got a long way o’ wickedness afore him. He oughter be among them in early youth convicted o’ sin an’ afeard o’ Satan.”
“Naw,” said the child, sitting upright and staring steadily at the straw. “He be ’feared o’ Pete Rood. An’ he won’t bide a-nigh the church-house.”
The light of the fire was on her face. Its breath stirred her bright hair. Her chubby hand hovered about the egg in the ashes. Surely the straw was turning at last.