"Climb right in, Miss Northerner! Good-by, poor Finnegan! This time we're going to try the persuasive powers of two babies as compared to those of one collie. Here we go!"
"Are we really going to Mrs. Chrisenberry's? Are you actually planning to ask her for the right of way?" queried Marian.
Sally Lou chuckled. Her round face was guileless and bland.
"Certainly not. I am going to Mrs. Chrisenberry's to buy some goose-grease."
"To buy some goose-grease! Horrors! What is goose-grease, pray?"
"Goose-grease is goose-grease. Didn't you ever have the croup when you were young, Miss Northerner? And didn't they roll you in warm blankets, and then bandage your poor little throat with goose-grease and camphor and red pepper?"
"An' a baked onion for your supper," added Mammy Easter. "An' a big saucer of butterscotch, sizzlin'-hot. Dey ain't no croup what kin stand before dat!"
"Mercy, I should hope not. I never heard of anything so dreadful. You aren't going to give goose-grease to your own babies, I hope?"
Sally Lou surveyed her uproarious sons, and allowed herself a brief giggle.
"They've never had a sign of croup so far, I'm thankful to say. But one ought to be prepared. And Mrs. Chrisenberry has the finest poultry-yard in the country-side. We'll enjoy seeing that, too. Don't look so dubersome. Wait and see!"