Presently Farmer Hurlbut spoke again, and, it seemed to Aunt Sereny, rather irrelevantly:
"Lots o' nuts this year up in the north pastur. The clump o' chestnuts is fuller 'n ever—the biggest chestnuts I ever see; 'n' up higher there's more walnuts 'n' butternuts than you ever see in your life. Guess we'll have to go over and get George's folks 'n' Eliza Jane 'n' the girls, 'n' have a picnic some warm day up there, and gather 'em."
"Yes, we must," assented kind Aunt Sereny.
"It would be sorter nice for them poor little fellers in the city to take a day off in the woods so," continued Farmer Hurlbut, jerking his thumb toward the paper from which he had been reading.
"Yes, it would," concurred Aunt Sereny.
"But," went on Farmer Hurlbut, with a puzzled expression, "how to get at 'em—that's the question."
"I should think so," said Aunt Sereny, whose sole mission in life was to agree and to smooth over and to dispense peace generally.
Suddenly Farmer Hurlbut seized his paper, and began to look over what he had been reading, passing his finger patiently along the lines.
"I thought so!" he exclaimed at last, pinning a particular place with his big thumb. "I thought I see the name of the superintendent of the society, 'n' I did. He'd know, I s'pose."
"Know what?" asked his wife, mildly.