“Well, I reckon I’ll wash the kitchen windows,” said Mrs. Pillig.
I was sawing up a few more sticks from the orchard, when the express man drove up with the beds, the crockery, and so on. I called son Peter, who responded with Buster at his heels. “Peter,” said I, “you and I’ll now set up the beds. You ought to be in school, though, by the way. Why aren’t you?”
“Hed ter bring maw over here,” said Peter.
“That’s too bad. Aren’t you sorry?”
Peter grinned at me and slowly winked. I was very stern. “Nevertheless, you’ll have a lesson,” I said. “You shall tell me the capitals of all the states while we set up your bed.”
Peter and I carried the beds, springs, and mattresses upstairs, and while we were joining the frames I began with Massachusetts and made him tell me all the capitals he could. We got into a dispute over the capital of Montana, Peter maintaining it was Butte, and I defending Helena. The debate waxed warm, and suddenly Buster appeared upon the scene, his tail following him up the stairs, to see what the trouble was. He began to leave mud tracks all over the freshly painted floor, so that we had to grab him up and wipe his paws with a rag. Peter held him while I wiped, and we fell to laughing, and forgot Montana.
“You’ll have to get rubbers for him,” said I.
This idea amused Peter tremendously. “Gee, rubbers on a dog!” he cried. “Buster’d eat ’em off in two seconds. Say, where’s Buster goin’ to sleep?”
We had to turn aside on our way downstairs for more furniture to make Buster a bed in a box full of excelsior in the shed. We put him in it, and went back to the porch. Buster followed us. We took him back, and put him in the box once more. He whacked the sides with his tail, as if he enjoyed the game–and jumped out as soon as we turned away.
“Gee, he’s too wide awake now,” said Peter.