"Dear me!" returned Tess, hesitating at the gate. "That's Seneca Sprague—the man who wears a linen duster and straw hat all the year round, and 'most always goes barefooted. He—he isn't just right, they say, Dot."
"Just right about what?" asked Dot.
"Mercy me, Dot!" exclaimed Tess, exasperated.
"Well, what is he?" asked Dot, with vigor.
"Well—I guess," said Tess, "that he thinks he is a minister. And, I do declare, I believe he's preaching to Sandyface and her kittens! Listen, Dot!"
CHAPTER III
BILLY BUMPS' BANQUET
Almost the first thing that would have caught the attention of the visitor to the old Corner House at almost any time, was the number of pets that hovered about that kitchen porch. Ruth, with a sigh, sometimes admitted that she was afraid she supported a menagerie.
Just at this hour—it was approaching noon—Mrs. MacCall, or the girl who helped her in the kitchen, might be expected to appear at the door with a plate of scraps or vegetable peelings or a little spare milk or other delicacy to tempt the appetites of the dumb creatures that subsisted upon the kindness of the Corner House family.
The birds, of course, got their share. In the winter the old Corner House was the rendezvous of a chattering throng of snow-buntings and sparrows and starlings, for the children tied suet and meat-bones to the branches of the fruit trees, as well as scattered crumbs upon the snow-crust. In summer the feathered beggars took toll as they pleased of the cherries and small fruits in the garden.