teak
into mouthfuls to facilitate her breakfast, while the maid was put to
collecting the widely scattered lunch. Mamma put baby, whom she was
feeding, off her lap--he began to scream; little brother left his
doughnut on a chair--the cat began to eat it; little Lucy left her
doll on the floor--big brother stepped on its face, for he did not
leave his book, but tried to read as he went to get the light shawl;
papa laid down his cigar to prepare the put-offer's breakfast--it went
out; the maid dropped the broom--the wind blew the trash from the
dust-pan over the swept floor. Clara continued to trim the hat. As she
was putting in the last pin, mamma reached the tip end of the hair,
and called for the ribbon to tie the braid. "Here 'tis," said little
brother. "Mercy!" cried Clara, "he's got my new blue sash, stringing
it along through all the dust. Goose! do you think I could wear that
great long wide thing on my hair?" Little brother said "Scat!" and
rushed to the rescue of his doughnut, while Lucy came in dragging the
clothes-basket, and big brother entered with mamma's black lace shawl.

"Well, you told me to get a light one," he replied to Clara's
impatient remonstrance, while Lucy whimpered that they wouldn't have
enough nuts if the clothes-basket wasn't taken along.

However, when Bob Trotter had secured Clara Hooks, the other girls
were quickly picked up, and so were the four boys, for Bob was brisk
and so were his horses. Dick Hart was the last called for. He had been
ready since quarter past six, and with his forehandedness had worried
his friends as effectually as the put-offer had hers. When the wagon
at last appeared with its load of fun and laughter, he felt too
ill-humored to return the merry greetings.

"A pretty time to be coming around!" he grumbled, climbing to his
seat. "I've been waiting three hours."

"You houghtn't to 'ave begun to wait so hearly," said Bob, who
had some peculiarities of pronunciation derived from his English
parentage.

"It would be better for you to keep quiet," Dick retorted. "You ought
to have your wages cut, coming around here after nine o'clock. We
ought to be out to the woods this minute."

"'Taint no fault of mine that we haint," said Bob, touching up his
horses.

"Whose fault is it, if it isn't yours?" Dick asked.

Clara Hooks was blushing.

"Let the sparrer tell who killed Cock Robin," was Bob's enigmatical
reply.

"What's he talking about?" said Julius Zink.