"Glory be!" cried the boy. "Dat fool mule ain't done kicked de music out ob it."
"Listen to me, Washington," demanded Grace, stepping over and laying a firm hand on the lad's shoulder. "You will put that instrument away—"
"'Tain't no inst'ment. Hit's a 'monica," he interrupted.
"I am speaking. Put it away, and do not let me see you touch it again until you have finished your work. Do you understand?"
"Uh-huh."
"See that you do not forget. Unpack both mule packs, but look out for the mules' heels, and remember that we did not hire you for an ornament. Emma Dean, let this be a warning to you," admonished Grace, turning to her companion. "Never trifle with a mule. They are all notoriously devoid of a sense of humor."
Washington, in the meantime, had shuffled away and had leisurely begun removing the packs.
"Speaking of ornaments, I suppose I am the only real ornament in this outfit," observed Hippy.
"You mean the kind that they pack away in the garret with broken chairs and old chromos," suggested Emma.
Hippy shrugged his shoulders and walked away, followed by the laughter of his companions. Emma had scored again, as she frequently did, and Hippy, instead of being ruffled, took keen delight, as usual, in her repartee.