“And to think that girl should turn out so well after all,” said Mrs. York. “She was the most harum scarum thing I ever saw when she was a young girl.”
“Ah, we must never judge by appearances,” sighed Mr. York. “That’s what I tell Mason when I have my bad spells come on. ‘York,’ he says, ‘don’t be a fool. You’re tough enough if you only keep to work. You’re as strong and healthy a looking man as I am.’ Ah, he little knows what a sinking there is my stomach and how weak I get, and don’t have the least bit of appetite. Ah, I’m slowly but surely fading away, fading away.”
“Don’t, father, don’t talk so. You make me feel miserable,” said Mrs. York, laying down her knife and looking at the sufferer with real distress in her face.
“Well, I won’t,” sighed York, taking up his knife and fork, and dashing at his plate with vigor. “I know its wrong to distress you, but what can a man do who feels the all-devouring worm continually crying—”
“Squash!” interrupted Johnny.
“No, sir, no more,” said Mrs. York, firmly. “Mercy sakes, do you want to turn into a squash vine, and have squashes grow out all over you? No more.”
Johnny said not a word, but pushed back his chair, grabbed his cap, and slid out of the back door. The little Yorks who were on the point of joining their petitions with that of their brother, awed by the stern tone of their mother, or frightened at the probable result of too much indulgence, dropped their plates and were silent. Teddy, having fully appeased his appetite, thought of Spotty.
“I believe I must be goin’. Hadn’t ought to have stopped so long. Mr. Small will be wanting his horse.”
“Oh, don’t be in a hurry, Teddy. Well, if you must go—come again, we’ll be glad to see you any time, won’t we, father?”