climbing
up and looking over mother's footboard at Lovey, all speckled. Mother
had let her slip on her new green roundabout over her nightgown, just to
pacify her, and there she set playing with the kitten Reuben Granger had
brought her. He was only ten years old then, but he 'd begun courting
Lovice.

"The Grangers' farm joined ours. They had eleven children, and mother
and father had thirteen, and we was always playing together. Mother
used to tell a funny story about that. We were all little young ones and
looked pretty much alike, so she didn't take much notice of us in the
daytime when we was running out 'n' in; but at night when the turn-up
bedstead in the kitchen was taken down and the trundle-beds were full,
she used to count us over, to see if we were all there. One night, when
she 'd counted thirteen and set down to her sewing, father come in and
asked if Moses was all right, for one of the neighbors had seen him
playing side of the river about supper-time. Mother knew she 'd counted
us straight, but she went round with a candle to make sure. Now, Mr.
Granger had a head as red as a shumac bush; and when she carried the
candle close to the beds to take another tally, there was thirteen
children, sure enough, but if there wa'n't a red-headed Granger right in
amongst our boys in the turn-up bedstead! While father set out on a hunt
for our Moses, mother yanked the sleepy little red-headed Granger out o'
the middle and took him home, and father found Moses asleep on a pile of
shavings under the joiner's bench.

"They don't have such families nowadays. One time when measles went
all over the village, they never came to us, and Jabe Slocum said there
wa'n't enough measles to go through the Dennett family, so they didn't
start in on 'em. There, I ain't going to finish the stalk; I'm going
to draw in a little here and there all over the rug, while I'm in the
sperit of plannin' it, and then it will be plain work of matching colors
and filling out.

"You see the stalk is mother's dress, and the outside green of the moss
roses is the same goods, only it 's our roundabouts. I meant to make 'em
red, when I marked the pattern, and then fill out round 'em with a light
color; but now I ain't satisfied with anything but white, for nothing
will do in the middle of the rug but our white wedding dresses. I shall
have to fill in dark, then, or mixed. Well, that won't be out of the
way, if it 's going to be a true rag story; for