MANDANY’S FOOL
By Maria Louise Pool
YE ain’t got hungry for termarters, be ye?”
Some one had knocked at the screen door, and as there was no response, a man’s strident, good-humored voice put the above question concerning tomatoes.
But somebody had heard.
A woman had been sitting in the kitchen with a pan of seek-no-further apples in her lap. She was paring and quartering these and then stabbing the quarters through and stringing them on yards of white twine, preparatory to festooning them on the clothes-horse which stood in the yard. This horse was already decorated profusely in this way. A cloud of wasps had flown from the drying fruit as the man walked up the path. He swung off his hat and waved the insects away.
“I say, have ye got hungry agin for termarters?” he repeated.
Then he rattled the screen; but it was hooked on the inside.