"Jack was going to have his sale this afternoon," replied Mary. "And Arthur is auctioneer."
"His sale! What on earth is that?"
"Why, Mamma—don't you know? Jack's chickens, of course. Croppy had eleven and Top-knot nine. There's a 'corner' in chickens just now, Arthur says, because most of the other boys have lost theirs. Alfred's were sick and died, and the rats ate all of Charley Ross's, and a hawk carried off five of Howard's. Jack expects to make a lot of money, because Croppy is a Bramahpootra hen, you know, and her chicks are very valuable."
"Corner! Lot of money! Oh, dear!" sighed poor Mrs. Frisbie, "what words the boys do teach you. Where they learn them I can't imagine. Not from me."
"From Papa, I guess," explained Lulu innocently. "He used to have hens when he was little, and sell 'em. It was splendid fun, he says. Grandmamma thinks that Jack is just Papa over again."
"All of you are," said Mrs. Frisbie. "Not one of you is a bit like me. Can't you sit still, Bertha? What are you doing there with your handkerchief?"
"Only dusting the table leg, Mamma; it wasn't quite clean."
"Dear, dear! and in your nice frock. Do let the furniture alone, child. Ring for Bridget, if any thing wants cleaning. You're a real Meddlesome Matty, Bertha."
"O Mamma!" cried Bertha, aggrieved. "Grandmamma taught me to dust when we lived in the other house, you know. Grandmamma said it was a good thing for little girls to be useful. And I didn't meddle with any thing on the table; really I didn't, Mamma."
"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Frisbie. "It's no great matter, only I don't like to have you do such things. Now sit still and play with your doll." She opened a book and began to read. The children crept nearer to each other and talked in low whispers.