Mrs. Tregennis lifted it from the ground. “Come on, Tommy,” she said.
“Where be we a goin’, Mammy?”
“Why, to show it, of course, to your Granfäather and Granny and Aunt Keziah Kate; an’ Aunt Martha, an’ Auntie Jessie an’ Ruthie an’ all.”
The partly dressed goose was forgotten and left with its head dangling dejectedly over the edge of the kitchen table. Thus, half an hour later, Tregennis found it in the midst of a litter of feathers and blood and straw.
He had just finished clearing up when Mrs. Tregennis and Tommy returned, and excitedly called him into the sitting-room on the left-hand side of the door. In front of the book-case he stood in silence.
“’Tis from the ladies,” Mrs. Tregennis said, in answer to his unspoken question.
“The ladies, not——”
“Yes, from Tommy’s Ladies.”
“Ellen,” said Tregennis, passing a toil-worn hand over the smooth, polished wood, “’tis a’most like bein’ in church; ’tis like they hymn-boards, an’ pulpits an’ such. ’Tis a’most like bein’ in church.”