Sometimes Crow, as he thinks of the feast, laughs exultantly as if to say, “I got the best of you all that time.”
Whereupon Quail, first glancing proudly at his own sleek form with the air of one who has not lived in vain, mounts the top of a nearby stump, and in his clear, shrill voice answers, “Not quite! not—quite!”
LITTLE POLLY PRENTISS
BY ELIZABETH LINCOLN GOULD
CHAPTER I
AN INTERRUPTED STORY
ALTHOUGH it was only five o’clock, and Manser Farm stood on a hill so that its windows caught the last gleam of the sun on a pleasant afternoon, the garret was growing dark.
“Is it five or six days it’s been raining without any stop?” inquired Mrs. Ramsdell, as she dropped the lid of her horse-hair trunk and turned the key in the lock.
“It’s only three days come six o’clock to-night,” said Aunty Peebles in her cheery treble. “Don’t you recall we were just going down to supper Monday when we heard the first drops on the tin roof? And this is only Thursday.”
“Well, it seems like two weeks, that’s all I’ve got to say about it,” grumbled Mrs. Ramsdell, as she rose stiffly and whisked her black alpaca skirt back and forth till every speck of dust had flown away from it. Most of the specks settled on Grandma Manser who sat tranquilly knitting in her corner by the south window.