"Oh, yes, he said yours were awful good, and he wished he had some of 'em," Rachel answered. She didn't dare take her mouth away from the cap-frill, and her feet ached dreadfully from standing still so long. But Grandma was as bright as a button, and hungry for every scrap of information.
"Land o' Goshen!" mourned Grandma, "how I wish he was comin' in now! an' I'd give him plenty." She sat still for a minute, lost in thought. Peletiah and Ezekiel had wandered off outside, where they sat under the lilac bushes, to rest after their unwonted exercise, so the hens, undisturbed, stepped over the sill of the kitchen door, and scratched and picked about to their hearts' content.
"I'll drive 'em out," said Rachel, delighted at the chance of action this would give her, and springing off.
"Take the broom," screamed Grandma after her, "and then hurry and come back and tell me some more."
So Rachel, wishing the duty could be an hour long, shooed and waved her broom wildly, and ran and raced, and the fat old hens tumbled over each other to get away. And then she came slowly back to Grandma's side, to go over again every bit she had told before. Until, looking up at the old clock on the shelf, she saw that it was one minute of twelve o'clock.
"Oh, my! I've got to go," she screamed in Grandma's ear, and without another word she dashed off and up to the lilac bushes. "Boys, come this minute." She held out both hands. "It's awful late."
"I know it," said Peletiah, with a very grieved face; "we've been waiting for you ever so long, and dinner's ready at home."
"Well, come now." She stuck her long arms out straight, and shook her fingers impatiently. "Oh, dear me—do hurry!"
"I ain't goin' to take hold of hands," declared Peletiah, edging off.
"Nor I, either," echoed Ezekiel.