I was just about to drink a glass of water, so I changed my mind and nearly choked to death.
Peaches tried to say something, which resulted in a gurgle in her throat, while Uncle Peter fell off his chair and landed on the cat, which had never done him any harm.
Elsie's interpretation of that wedding invitation is going to set Herman Schulz back several dollars, or I'm not a foot high.
And maybe they don't have their troubles at Troolyrooral with the servant problem.
It's one hard problem, that—and nobody seems to get the right answer.
One morning later on Peaches and I were out on the porch drinking in the glorious air and chatting with Hep Hardy, who had come out to spend Sunday with us, when Aunt Martha came bustling out followed by Uncle Peter, who, in turn, was followed by Lizzie Joyce, their latest cook.
Lizzie wore a new lid, trimmed with prairie grass and field daisies, hanging like a shade over the left lamp; she had a grouchy looking grip in one hand and a green umbrella with black freckles in the other.
She was made up to catch the first train that sniffed into the station.
Aunt Martha whispered to us plaintively, "Lizzie has been here only two days and this makes the seventh time she has started for town."
Busy Lizzie took the center of the stage and scowled at her audience. "I'm takin' the next train for town, Mem!" she announced, with considerable bitterness.