There was Barby in a little wooden chair, eating bread and butter with a very sticky face.
“Have you seen,” she began, with no hope of success, “two little”—and there was Barby in a little wooden chair, eating bread and butter with a very sticky face, while Elyot was capering around the small shop on a cane, an old man with big silver spectacles laughing to see him go.
CHAPTER XIV.
HOME AGAIN.
THE “Scrannage girls,” as their neighbors called them, were seated in high-back chairs in the big hall at “The Oaks;” their gig, in which they had followed as best they could the swift pony-cart bearing home the children, was tied at the end of the carriage-drive. They had cups of tea in their hands, from which they drew long draughts of inspiration and refreshment to help along their part of the tale.
Polly sat down in front of them on a low cushioned seat, clasping her baby in her arms, and Elyot crouched on the floor, his arms in his mother’s lap; the rest of the household and guests crowding up for the recital, old Mr. King at the visitors’ right hand, and Amy Loughead modestly selecting the background.
“Ye see,” said Miss Sally, who as usual was spokeswoman, “it was jest this way. We made up our minds to go to town this mornin’; one thing on account o’ bringin’ you the jell you’d ordered, marm,” bobbing her large bonnet at Mrs. King.
“Yes,” said Polly. “Well, and where did you meet the children, Miss Scrannage?” clasping Barby very closely.
“I was a-goin’ to tell you. Land! but this tea is proper good, Mis’ King,” taking a long draught of it, and smacking her lips. “Well, we made up our minds to come to town as I was a-sayin’.”
“My good woman,” said Mr. King, “we do not care for all those particulars. What we do want to know is where you met those children?” pointing to Elyot and Barby.