At quarter past two I went into Helen's little room, where she was drawing exquisite illustrations on a blackboard for next day's "morning talk."
"Helen, the children say that a family of Kennetts live at 32 Anna Street, and I am going to see why Patsy didn't come. Oh yes, I know that there are boys enough without running after them, but we must have this particular boy, whether he wants to come or not, for he is sui generis. He shall sit on that cushion
"'And sew a fine seam,
And feast upon strawberries,
'Sugar and cream!'"
"I think a taste for martyrdom is just as difficult to eradicate from the system as a taste for blood," Helen remarked whimsically. "Very well, run on and I'll 'receive' in your absence. I could say with Antony, 'Lend me your ears,' for I shall need them. Have you any commands?"
"Just a few. Please tell Paulina Strozynski's big brother that he must call for her earlier, and not leave her sitting on the steps so long. Tell Mrs. Hickok that if she sends us another child whom she knows to be down with the chicken-pox, we won't take in her two youngest when they're old enough. Don't give Mrs. Slamberg any aprons. She returned the little undershirts and drawers that I sent her by Julie, and said 'if it was all the same to me, she'd rather have something that would make a little more show!' And—oh yes, do see if you can find Jacob Shubener's hat; he is crying down in the yard, and doesn't dare go home without it."
"Very well. Four cases. Strozynski—steps—cruelty. Hickok—chicken-pox—ingratitude. Slamberg—aprons—vanity. Shubener—hat—carelessness. Oh that I could fasten Jacob's hat to his ear by a steel chain! Has he looked in the sink?"
"Yes."
"Ash-barrel?"
"Certainly."
"Up in the pepper-tree?"