“I don’t know, Missy Ruth,” complained the old darkey to the eldest Corner House girl, “how I’s goin’ to get that bed of winter beets weeded—I dunno, noways. My misery suah won’t let me stoop down to them rows, and there’s a big patch of ’em.”
“Do they need weeding right now, Uncle Rufus?”
“Suah do, Missy. Dey is sufferin’ fo’ hit. I’d send wo’d for some o’ mah daughter Pechunia’s young ‘uns to come over yere, but I knows dat all o’ them that’s big enough to work is reg’larly employed by de farmers out dat a-way. Picking crops for de canneries is now at de top-notch, Missy; and even Burnejones Whistler and Louise-Annette is big enough to pick beans.”
“Goodness me!” exclaimed Agnes, who overheard the old man’s complaint. “There ought to be kids enough around these corners to hire, without sending to foreign lands for any. They are always under foot if you don’t want them.”
“Ain’t it de truf?” chuckled the old man. “Usual’ I can’t look over de hedge without spyin’ dat Sammy Pinkney and a dozen of his crew. They’s jest as plenty as bugs under a chip. But now—”
“Well, why not get Sammy?” interrupted Ruth.
“He ought to be of some use, that is sure,” added Agnes.
“Can yo’ put yo’ hand on dat boy?” demanded Uncle Rufus. “‘Nless he’s in mischief I don’t know where to look for him.”
“I can find him all right,” Agnes declared. “But I cannot guarantee that he will take the job.”
“Offer him fifty cents to weed those beet rows,” Ruth said briskly. “The bed I see is just a mat of weeds.” They had walked down to the garden while the discussion was going on. “If Sammy will do it I’ll be glad to pay the half dollar.”