“Wouldn't it be fine, Mattox,” she cried, “if we didn't have to work at the mill to-day an' cu'd run up on the mountain an' pick up that star? I seed one fall onct an' I picked it up.”
For a moment the little face was thoughtful—wistful—then she added:
“I wonder how it would feel to spen' the day in the woods onct. Archie B. says it's just fine and flowers grow everywhere. Oh, jes' to be 'quainted with one Jeree—like Archie B. is—an' have him come to yo' winder every mornin' an' say, 'Wake up, Pet! Wake up, Pet! Wake up, Pet!' An' then hear a little 'un over in another tree say, 'So-s-l-ee-py—So-s-l-ee-py!'”
Her chatter ceased again. Then: “Mattox, did you ever see a rabbit? I seen one onct, a settin' up in a fence corner an' a spittin' on his han's to wash his face.”
She laughed at the thought of it. But the other children, who had dressed, sat listlessly in their seats, looking at her with irresponsive eyes, set deep back into tired, lifeless, weazened faces.
“I'd ruther a rabbit 'ud wash his face than mine,” drawled Bull Run.
Mrs. Watts came in and jerked the chair from under him and he sat down sprawling. Then he lazily arose and deliberately spat, between his teeth, into the fireplace.
There was not enough of him alive to feel that he had been imposed upon.
For breakfast they had big soda biscuits and fried bacon floating in its own grease. There was enough of it left for the midday lunch. This was put into a tin pail with a tight fitting top. The pail, when opened, smelt of the death and remains of every other soda biscuit that had ever been laid away within this tightly closed mausoleum of tin.
They had scarcely eaten before the shrill scream of the mill-whistle called them to their work.