“I declare to man,” said the widow, “I’ve been so taken up with old times, I forgot. See here, Sally,”—opening her basket and taking out a kitten,—“I thought she’d be company for you. You know them speckled chickens, Sally, that the old top-knot hen hatched out.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Well, the hawks carried off three of ’em; and I meant to brought the rest over to you, but Sam said they wouldn’t lay much this winter; you’d have to buy corn, and you’d better have ’em in the spring. But I’ve brought you over a pillow-case full of flax.”
“I,” said Mrs. Rhines, “brought you over some wool.”
“And I,” said Captain Rhines, “a barrel of cider and some vegetables, to go with your coots and salt beef.”
“While I,” said Uncle Isaac, “am all the one that’s come empty-handed; but I know what I’ll do; I’ll give you a pig, and Ben can get him next time he comes off.”
John now came in, bringing five ducks, that he had shot.
“He’s just like the rest of us, Ben,” said his father: “I believe it runs in the breed of us to shoot.”
“Let him come over here, and stay a day or two, and gun with me.”
“He’s too good a boy,”—patting him fondly on the head;—“I couldn’t get along without him.”