"Real superior for a foreigner," says Mis' Sykes, so quick after she'd clucked to her horse I was afraid Mis' Cardell heard her.
Then we saw an old lady named Marchant, that her ancestors had settled up Friendship Village, but she was so poor now that everybody had kind of forgot about that, and some folks named Swenson that lived in the toll-gate house and had a regular hennery of homeless cats. And though they give the little boy a flower or two and left him stroke a kitty or more, they hadn't any of them either seen or heard of anybody that was out trying to locate a son.
It was just a little while after we started that Mis' Sykes had her great idea. I remember we were just coming out at Mis' Swenson's when she thought of it, and all the homeless cats were following along behind us with all their tails sticking up straight.
"Ladies," says Mis' Sykes, "why in under the canopy don't we get some work out of some of these folks for the peace meeting to-morrow night?"
"I was thinking of that," says Mame Holcomb.
"Some of them would wash the dishes and not charge anything, being it's for the peace."
"And help clean up next day," says Mis' Sykes. "That's when the backaching, feet-burning work comes in."
"Costs a sight to pay by the hour," says Mame, "and this way we could get the whole thing free, for patriotism."
"Mop the hall floor, too," says Mis' Sykes. "Land," she adds, only about half soft enough, "look at them children! Did you ever see such skinny sights?"
Awful pindling-looking children, the Swensons were, and there were most as many of them as there were cats.