[MARTY'S PUMPKINS.]
BY RAY STANNARD BAKER.
"M-a-rty! Mart—e—e!" called a shrill voice from the woodshed door.
The speckled rooster stopped scratching in the chip-pile, raised his head, blinked his eyes, and chuckled protestingly.
"Mart-e-e!" called the voice again, and a plain woman in a calico dress stepped out into the morning sunlight. "I wonder where thet child has gone. She'd try the patience of a saint. Mart—e—e!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Come right here this minute."
Around the corner of the chicken-coop ran a little figure with flying hair.
"Where hev you been?" demanded Mrs. Tucker, impatiently.
Marty's bare brown toes burrowed in the chip-pile, and she hung her head. She was a slender girl, and a pair of big, wistful eyes looked out from under her sun-bonnet.