But, as usual, the obstreperous Sir Walter declined to budge, and his mistress found it necessary to follow up and forcibly detach him from a promising burrow.
“What a tom-boy she is! I don’t believe Sin will ever grow up,” Doris lamented. “Are you looking for anything in particular to-day, Jibby, dear?”
“Trailing arbutus for Miss Sophia. I believe she’d rather have it than anything; and you know that little warm nook in the pines, south of our House in the Woods? It ought to be out, just there,” answered Yellow Star, eagerly, looking as if she would coax the pale buds open with the warm shining of her dusky face.
“Too early; and besides, I don’t see why you’re always wanting to do something special for that cross old maid, Jibby,” objected Sin, who had come back within ear-shot. “She never does anything for you, does she? I’m going to get some flowers for Doris’ mother, if there are any. Her cookies are awfully good.”
“I shall take mine to Miss Morrison,” observed Doris. “But I’ve got to go round by Uncle Si’s first; mother said he wasn’t feeling very well the last she heard, and she told me to be sure and stop. Will you come too, girls, or would you rather go on?”
“I will come,” agreed Stella, at once.
“I won’t, then,” remarked Sin, who was unusually contrary to-day, the others thought. “I can’t bear sick people, and he may be awfully sick for all we know! And then, you never can tell what Uncle Si is going to say next.”
It was quite true. You never could tell; and his first words to-day made both girls jump, coming unexpectedly, as they did, in Uncle’s small, squeaky voice, through the open window of the “kitchen chamber,” where he always slept.
“Look out for the bull, gals! Dunno ’zactly where he is, but he’s certain on the rampage, ’n’ I can’t do a thing. Been under the weather these two days. No, no breakfast, nor supper neither; didn’t want it bad enough to git up ’n’ git it. What’s that, Doris? Wa’al, the door ain’t locked, if ye will come in.”
In five minutes Stella had a brisk fire going in the kitchen stove, and in ten more the tea-kettle was singing cheerily, toast made, tea put to draw, and two fresh eggs from the hay-mow “coddled” to perfection. She had been well trained in waiting upon a fussy would-be invalid.