"You find any thing? umph! You can't keep the run of your own clothes. I have to find your hat for you half the time. I expect now I'll have to move half the old trumpery in this garret."
Grown desperate, Sammy flung a mug of cold water in the face of the baby, who was sitting on the floor. The child set up a terrible screeching.
"Sam, what does ail that child?"
"I don't know, marm. Guess he's going to have a fit. He's holding his breath."
Mrs. Sumerford was down the ladder in an instant, and catching up the child, who was purple in the face from temper and strangulation, thumped him on the back, exclaiming,—
"Poor blessed baby! was he frightened 'cause his mother left him? Well, mother won't;" and the next moment, "Why, this child's all wet! Sam Sumerford, what have you been doing? Have you been throwing water on this baby?"
Sam, who was in the chamber, and had hid the pot in his bed, to change the subject replied,—
"Yes, marm, I—I'm trying to find it."
"Well, you look for it. I must go to the barn, and get some eggs for Harry's breakfast."