"I hope you received a pleasant report?" I ventured.
"Jes' las' night he lef' th' dish tow'ls a-hangin' on th' lot fence 'n' th' calf et 'em up. 'N' th' day befo' he fed a gang o' day old chick'ns meal 'n' wadder 'n' they swelled up 'n' died. 'N' chick'ns wuth fifteen cents a poun' at th' store!... Lessie come home a fo'tn't ago with a tale o' meetin' some feller. I tol' 'er gels 'd better leave all tramps be."
"But I'm not a tramp!" I protested. "I'm usually considered a gentleman."
"That's whut Jeffy 'lowed. He's here last night—pore feller!—'n' tol' us 'bout eat'n' a snack with you on Baldy—whut in th' name o' the sevin plagues does a man in 'is right min' wan' to live thur fur?—tell me that!"
"I find it very pleasant—"
Then the light went out, soft hands were pressing hard over my closed lids, and a cool, ferny perfume drifted to my nostrils. I was conscious of warm wrists alongside my head, and a stifled giggle just behind me.
"Lessie!" I cried, remembering the childhood prank.
The blinding hands were at once withdrawn, and as she leaped back new vials of wrath were opened.
"Of all outlandish doin's!"
Granny had raised her head only at my exclamation, but she saw enough.