"I don't mind if I have mine, too. Guess you may put in two lumps, seein' as we did n't have to pay for it," and the old dame sipped her Hyson with supreme satisfaction, as did likewise her granddaughter.
As the latter pushed back her chair from the table, her grandmother cautioned her:--"Look out! you 're settin' it on another bag!" But it was too late. To Aunt Tryphosa's amazement and Maria-Ann's horror, the bag suddenly flopped up and down on the floor, the motion being accompanied with such an unearthly, "A--ee--eetsch--ok--ak--ache--eetsch!" that the two women's faces grew pale, and they jumped as if they had been shot.
Then Maria-Ann, with her hand on her thumping heart, burst into a shrill laugh, and Aunt Tryphosa quavered a thin accompaniment. How they laughed! till again the tears rolled down their cheeks.
"Scairt of hens!" chuckled the old dame as she undid the strings of the bag--"at my time of life! Oh, my stars and garters, Maria-Ann! ain't they beauties?"
She drew out by the legs two snow-white Wyandotte pullets, and held them up admiringly. "They 're from March, I know; but just to think of this, Maria-Ann!" Again words and, curiously enough, eyes, too, failed her, and her granddaughter read the slip of paper tied around the leg of one of the hens:--"'One for Aunt Tryphosa, and one for Maria-Ann; have laid three times; last time day before yesterday; I hope they 'll lay two Christmas-morning eggs for your breakfast. March Blossom.'"
"I 'm goin' to put 'em on some hay in the clothes-basket, Maria-Ann, an' keep 'em right under my bed where it's good an' warm," said Aunt Tryphosa, decidedly. "They 're kinder quality folks and can't be turned in among common fowl. Besides, I ain't got another hood, an' if they should freeze their combs, I 'd never forgive myself."
"Well, I would, grandmarm," said Maria-Ann, still laughing, as she untied the last two bundles. "Laws!" she exclaimed, "Here 's New York style for you." She read the visiting card:
"To Mrs. Tryphosa Little, with the Season's compliments from John Curtis Clyde. 4 East ----th Street."
"Well, I 'm dumbfoundered," sighed Mrs. Tryphosa Little, and more she could not say as she took out of the large pasteboard box, a white silk neckerchief, a cap of black net and lace with a "chou" of purple satin lutestring, a black fur collar and a muff to match, in all of which she proceeded to array herself with the utmost despatch, forgetful of the two hens, which, after wandering aimlessly about the kitchen, had roosted finally on the back of her wooden rocking-chair, where they balanced themselves with some difficulty.
But suddenly, as she was thrusting her hands into the new muff, she paused, laid it down on the table, and said, rather querulously, "Help me off with these things, Maria-Ann; I 'm all tuckered out. I can stan' a day's washin' as well as anybody, if I am eighty-one come next June, but I can't stan' no such night 'fore Chris'mus as this, an' I 'm goin' to bed, an' take the hens."