"We couldn't do that," small Patty answered, decidedly. "They can't afford to do much extra, I'm afraid, Georgie. You know we're quite expensive, our keepin'; I heard old Miss Crandall tell Mike so."
"Miss Crandall's a gossip, Uncle Amasa says."
"But I know we are," poor Patty went on. "Aunt Polly ain't had no fall bunnit, you know, an' she does her own washin' since we come. I'm afraid we cost 'em quite a deal."
"Well, what shell we do?" George cried, desperately, and giving the lame turkey a savage cut over his saucy tail.
"I don't know what you'll do," was Polly's calm response, "but I shell give that 'Melia every smitch o' my turkey next Thursday. So there!"
There was another pause, and then George remarked, with a great showing of coolness: "Well, all right. An' I'll take Sally my turkey an' all my pumpkin pie!"
"Oh, you dear George!" began his sister, and then broke down and cried.
"What air you childern whisperin' about?" queried Aunt Polly, coming upon the two, sitting side by side on the wood-pile, later in the day.
Patty hesitated. Good and kind as Aunt Polly always was, her sharp eyes and sharper voice were awe-inspiring to her small niece. But George, whose bravery was the glory of his sister, looked up at the tall woman with his fearless gray eyes, and told the story of that morning's adventures and their resolution, adding:
"An' we were just a-wonderin', Aunt Polly, how we'd get the things down there, an' if you'd let Mike go with us, maybe, 'cause you know you say you don't like us to go where you don't know the folks."