"Cousin Sam, Cousin Sim says 'twas puddin' sauce!" said Mary Sands cheerfully.
"Think likely 'twas!" said Mr. Sam. "Tell him he's right for once, and put that down on his little slate."
"Then another time," Calvin went on; "another morsel, Miss Hands? just a scrap? can't? now ain't that a sight! I can, just as easy—watch me now! I rec'lect well, that Methody parson was here with his boy. What was his name? Lihu, was it, or 'Liphalet?"
"'Liphalet!" said Mr. Sim, a faint twinkle coming into his dim eyes. "'Liphalet Pinky!"
"'Liphalet Pinky! that's it!" Calvin laid down his knife and fork to slap his thigh. "Jerusalem crickets! how we did play it on that unfort'nate youngster! Miss Hands, you see Sim settin' there, sober as a judge; you'd think he'd been like that all his life now, wouldn't you? You'd never think he'd get an unfort'nate boy into the bucket and h'ist him up and down the well till he was e'enamost scairt to death, would you now?"
"I certin should not!" cried Mary Sands gleefully. "Why, Cousin Sim!"
"And he hollerin' all the time, 'Lemme out! I'll tell Pa on you, and he'll call down the wrath to come! You lemme out!' and then we'd slack on the old sweep and down he'd go again—haw! haw!"
"He! he!" cackled Mr. Sim, rubbing his little withered hands. "I can see the tossel on his cap now, bobbin' up and down, and his little pickéd nose under it—he! he!"
"Ho! ho!" chimed in Mr. Sam suddenly. "And I can see you—I mean, tell him I can see him bobbin' up and down on Ma's knee when she spanked him for it."
"That's too long to say," said Mary Sands placidly; "think likely he heard it, didn't you, Cousin Sim?"