They were immediately pounced upon and conveyed to their seats in the wagon, where Aunt Sereny was waiting for them.
Farmer Hurlbut was overflowing with joviality and good-humor. Two great suggestive baskets and a mighty jug were packed into the front of the wagon, and behind were various boxes and barrels to hold the surplus nuts.
"And who's this?" asked Aunt Sereny, beaming delightfully from the front seat of the wagon, and fixing her gaze particularly upon the forlorn little straggler clinging tight to Tim's hand.
"Please, mum," said Tim, eagerly, "it's the Baby, 'n' he's sick, 'n' mother was for havin' him come 'stead o' me, but they said mebby you'd take us both."
"Take you both!" exclaimed the dear old lady, wiping her eyes vigorously, and kissing the Baby's weazened little face, "I guess we will! It'll do him good, likely's not, bless his heart! Josiah, mebby"—as the horses started off briskly—"mebby," significantly, "the boys are hungry after their journey. Just get out the little tin cups 'n' I'll give them a drink o' milk apiece, 'n' mebby a sandwich 'n' a turn-over as we're riding along. It's a good ways up to the north pastur'," continued the old lady, as she dealt out the things liberally, and watched them grasped eagerly by the half-starved little creatures.
"There's plenty, boys; eat all you want. Goodness me! Josiah Hurlbut," she whispered to her husband, "they haven't had nothing to eat for a week—I know they haven't!"
But the chief ecstasy was on the back seat, where the Baby was ensconced between Tim and Philly, and eagerly swallowing a cup of Aunt Sereny's rich yellow milk.
"Massy, Phil," cried Tim, admiringly, "see the Baby a-drinkin'! How does it taste, Baby?—good?"
The Baby nodded, a grave smile settling upon his poor little visage under the big hat.