Lily was looking out, and listening to the gophers whistling as they raced to and fro. She could see Bob Burns lying at length on the grass in the pasture over the fence, his heels waving in the air, his hands holding a string which formed a snare. It was like fishing to young Izaak Walton.
It was very still and hot, and the cheep and trill of the gophers and the chatter of the kingbirds alone broke the silence. A cloud of butterflies were fluttering about a pool near; a couple of big flies buzzed and mumbled on the pane.
"What ails your mother?" Lily asked, recovering herself and looking at Sadie, who was distinctly ill at ease.
"Oh, I dunno," Sadie replied, putting one bare foot across the other.
Lily insisted.
"She 'n' pa's had an awful row—"
"Sadie!" said the teacher, warningly, "what language!"
"I mean they quarrelled, an' she don't speak to him any more."
"Why, how dreadful!"
"An' pa, he's awful cross; and she won't eat when he does, an' I haf to wait on table."