“It’s all right for you to laugh, but you won’t offer to go out with me at this midnight hour and give them some supper!” wailed Janet, picking up her sneakers and trying to pull them up on her bare feet.
“Whad you doin’ dat foh, Honey?” asked Rachel.
“Going to feed the measly chickens,” grumbled Janet.
“Tain’t no use. Go back to bed and fergit ’em.”
“Oh, do you think they are dead?” gasped Janet, fearfully.
“Nah! I betcher it ain’t de fust time dey went to baid on empty stummicks when Farmeh Ames owned ’em. Once moh won’t kill ner cure ’em of trouble,” chuckled Rachel, turning to go back to her room. But she remembered something and laughingly added: “I tought dis house was on fiah f’om the way Janet yelled. Nex’ time you fergits a pig, er a hen’s refreshmen’s, don’t make sech a time oveh it.”
“I’ll tie a string on my finger after this so I won’t forget the poor things again,” sighed Janet, kicking her sneakers across the room.
“I don’t see how you can forget that poor setting-hen, Janet; she has to hatch out all those eggs for you,” was Natalie’s reproof.
“How many eggs did you place under her, Janet?” asked Mrs. James, trying to act interested but hiding a great yawn back of her hand.
Janet counted on her fingers and then said: “Seven and nine—sixteen altogether, Jimmy.”