"No, sit still. Husband"—the parson's wife looked down the table—"excuse me a minute." She slipped out, and in another moment in she came, and Peletiah with her.
And then Mr. Henderson told such a funny story about a monkey he had read about only just that very morning, that Ezekiel forgot there ever was such a thing as tired legs, and even Peletiah had no thoughts for that dreadful run home from Grandma Bascom's.
As for Rachel, all idea of dinner flew at once out of her head. She laid down her knife and fork and leaned forward with sparkling eyes, to catch every word. Seeing which, Mrs. Henderson burst out laughing.
"I'm afraid you are making things worse, husband," she said, "for they won't eat any dinner at all now."
"I surely am," said the parson, with another laugh, "and I thought I was going to help so much," he added ruefully.
"How you can laugh," exclaimed Miss Jerusha sourly, at the good time in progress, and sitting quite stiffly, "I don't for my part see."
"Oh, well, if you'd laugh more, it would be better for all of us, Jerusha," said her brother good-naturedly.
"I ain't a-goin' to laugh," declared Miss Jerusha, "and it's a wicked, sinful shame to set such an example before those boys, like coddlin' up that girl for keepin' them off playin'. I never see such goin's on!"
"We haven't been playing," said Peletiah stoutly.
"I told her so," said Ezekiel fretfully, seeing that his father had no more monkey stories to offer, "but she keeps saying it just the same. I wish she'd go off and play," he added vindictively.