For two minutes Jimmy was triumphant.
“How easy it goes! How well I do it!” he thought. “My arms must be pretty strong.”
But nobody was there to hear or see him. Mrs. Chick had gone into the kitchen, and was talking to Edith about buttering the plates for the pies. Through the open shed door he espied the kid nibbling leaves from some low bushes. The little Morse baby, who never stayed at home if she could help it, had brought her black doll just inside Mrs. Chick’s yard, and was rolling her in the sand.
“What a dirty baby to do that!” thought Jimmy.
Still he almost wished she would come into the shed; he did not enjoy being alone.
He turned the handle of the churn ’round and ’round and ’round. He was growing tired.
“Mrs. Chick!” he called out, “I think the butter is done.”
But Mrs. Chick paid no attention. She was telling Edy how hard she used to work when she was a little girl named Biddy Roberts, and lived in England.
“Perhaps,” said she to Edy, “they wouldn’t have called me Biddy if they had known I was going to marry a man by the name of Chick!”