The men-folk were quite well along with their meal before Mrs. Atwood and Susan, flushed with their labors about the stove, were ready to sit down. They were accustomed to hear the farmer grumble, and, having carried their point, were in no haste to reply or to fight over a battle that had been won already. Roger led to a slight resumption of hostilities, however, by a disposition—well-nigh universal in brothers—to tease.
"Sue," he said, "will soon be wanting to get some feathers like those of the fine birds that will light in our door-yard this evening."
"That's it," snarled the farmer; "what little you make will soon be on your backs or streamin' away in ribbons."
"Well," said Mrs. Atwood, a little sharply, "it's quite proper that we should have something on our backs, and if we earn the money to put it there ourselves, I don't see why you should complain; as for ribbons, Sue has as good right to 'em as Roger to a span-new buggy that ain't good for anything but taking girls out in."
"What made you have the seat so narrow, Roger?" asked Sue; "you couldn't squeeze three people in to save your life."
"I'm content with one girl at a time," replied Roger, with a complacent shrug.
"And the same girl only one time, too, from what I hear. You've taken out all there are in Forestville haven't you?"
"Haven't got quite around yet. And then some prudent mothers do think the seat a trifle narrow, and the ones I'd like to take out most can't go. But there's plenty that can."
"And one is as good as another," added his sister, maliciously, "If she will only talk nonsense, and let you hold her from falling out when you whisk over the thank-e-ma'ams."
"I didn't have to go from home to learn that most girls talk nonsense," laughed Roger. "By the way, how did you learn about the thank-e-ma'ams? I didn't teach you."