"Out lookin' after my punkins," she answered, shyly.
"Your punkins!" said Mrs. Tucker, explosively. "You won't have punkins long ef you don't answer when I call."
"I didn't hear you, ma'am."
"Stuff an' nonsense! I tol' Eb it wa'n't good sense to put such punkin notions in yer head. Now take this cup an' run over to Mis' Wiskins an' ask the loan of some yeast."
Marty's feet twinkled as she ran, and Mrs. Tucker was so surprised to see her back so soon that she sent her on another errand. But at last Marty was free to hurry again into the corn-field. Here she went about among the shocks, and lifted the yellow pumpkins, one by one, and carried them to a "double-decker" wagon that stood not far away, climbed up on a stepladder, and dropped them in. Some of them were so large that when she tried to reach around them the sleeves of her outgrown gingham dress drew up over her sunburnt elbows. But she tugged and staggered and wrinkled her freckled nose until the wagon was heaping full. Just as she was completing her task old Ebenezer Tucker came out to the field.
"Got 'em loaded?" he asked, gruffly.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, we'll take 'em to town to-morrow and see what they'll bring."
Marty jumped up and clapped her hands.
"Oh, Uncle Eb—"