Early Tuesday morning, having thrown the diary into the bottom bureau drawer, Janet ran downstairs to ask Rachel for a hammer, saw and nails.
“What foh, Honey?” demanded the suspicious cook.
“I’ve got to build a good pig pen, Rach, and fix over that chicken coop before Ames brings over the hens and rooster.”
“Does yoh know how to drive a nail?” asked Rachel.
“That’s nothing to learn. You just hold the nail where it is to go and then bang! bring down the hammer,” explained Janet.
“Ump!” chuckled the mammy. “Da’s all! Jus’ fotch down the hammer. But moh times as not, dat same weapon hits yoh fingah nail and den yoh does a jazz dance, all right!”
“Oh, pooh! If one uses judgment and looks where the hammer is to go, there is no excuse for accidents,” Janet bragged.
“All right! Hab it yoh way. I’m sure I ain’t one to wish no mashed nails fer yoh. But be keerful—da’s all I says!” And with this last admonition, Rachel got the tools for Janet.
Natalie assisted Janet in moving the crate containing the three pigs, to the barn yard where they were left until such a time as their future residence should be completed. Meantime they certainly made the welkin ring with their deafening squeals.
“My goodness, Jan, how can such nerve-racking sounds come from such tiny creatures?” wondered Natalie aloud, as she stood gazing down at the squirming porkers.