"Come on, kid; help with these peas, since you can't paint," said Basil.
"Meaning me, or the goat?" asked Bartlemy, accepting the invitation.
"Give Ben Bolt the pods, and let's sing to him; then he'll be ashamed of himself," said Rob, who dearly loved the sextettes the Greys and Battalion B carolled.
"Or ashamed of us," suggested Bruce, but obediently lifted up his voice in song.
The peas were done much too soon, with so many shelling. Long before the young people were tired the last pod had yielded its five plump fellows to the green-filled pan, under the pressure of Wythie's thumb. Shouldering their burdens the six returned to the house.
"It has been a dear day," said Wythie, as she and Rob stood for a moment on the steps before closing the little grey house for the night.
"Beautiful!" assented Rob, promptly. "In spite of our trials and drawbacks we do have some blithe days in the grey house."