Miss Pickett. Dear me, do you have tramps here?
Miss Morgan. No indeed, a walk, Betty means.
Betty. A hike is the correct term. We pack up a lunch and then go for a little stroll of ten miles.
Miss Pickett. I believe in walking every day, and each morning I walk three blocks to market. The other morning a young bride was doing her buying, and I heard her ask the butcher for an eighth of lamb, as a quarter was too much.
Ruth. Mother heard a woman complain to the butcher that the lamb was a little spoiled and the butcher said “No wonder ma’am that lamb was a great pet of my children’s and I was afraid they’d spoil it.”
Betty. Well Aunt Jane, we can’t give you a credit for hiking on the strength of three blocks to the butchers’ but if you lived with us any length of time we’d have you a champion.
Kitty. We aren’t always so strenuous, Miss Pickett. We embroider.
Hope. And we do basketry, see what I’m making for mother.
Ruth. And we work with raffia, too. Isn’t this a pretty bag?