"Yes. Gail got a dollar for Christmas, and I thought this would 'most make enough to buy a good coat for her. She needs one dreadfully."
Mr. Hartman slipped the money into the grimy fist again, cleared his throat and then said, "Now, I've got a plan. You keep this dollar and fifty cents for your work last summer, and when the strawberries are ripe again, we'll see about your picking some more to pay for the spoiled ones. Is that all right?"
"Yes," cried Peace, giving a delighted little jump. "You aren't near bad, are you?"
"I hope not," he replied with a queer laugh. "Can you give me a kiss, do you suppose?"
"If you will skin me a rabbit," she answered promptly.
"If I'll what?" he yelled in amazement, almost dropping her from his lap.
"Skin me a rabbit. Winkum and Blinkum are starving to death—Faith says so—and they really don't seem as fat as when Bryan gave them to me; so if we can save them by eating them up, we better do it. Don't you think so?"
"Well, now, that might be a good idea," he answered slowly, for he regarded rabbits as a nuisance, and was not anxious to see any such pests in his neighborhood. "Stewed rabbit makes a pretty good dish, too."
"That's what I had heard. Will you skin them for me?"
"Yep, any time you say so."