at Samantha's ill humor.

"No," she answered briefly.

"What yer cal'latin' ter do with 'em?"

"I haven't decided yet. The boy says they haven't got any folks nor any
home; and I suppose it's our duty to find a place for 'em. I don't see
but we've got to go to the expense of takin' 'em back to the city and
puttin' 'em in some asylum."

"How'd they happen to come here?"

"They ran away from the city yesterday, and they liked the looks of this
place; that's all the satisfaction we can get out of 'em, and I dare say
it's a pack of lies."

"That boy wouldn't tell a lie no more 'n a seraphim!" said Samantha
tersely.

"You can't judge folks by appearances," answered Vilda. "But anyhow,
don't talk to the neighbors, Jabe; and if you haven't got anything
special on hand to-day, I wish you'd patch the roof of the summer house
and dig us a mess of beet greens. Keep the children with you, and see
what you make of 'em; they're playin' in the garden now."

"All right. I'll size 'em up the best I ken, tho' mebbe it'll hender me
in my work some; but time was made for slaves, as the molasses said when
they told it to hurry up in winter time."

Two hours later, Miss Vilda looked from the kitchen window and saw Jabez
Slocum coming across the road from the garden. Timothy trudged beside
him, carrying the basket of greens in one hand, and the other locked in
Jabe's huge paw; his eyes upturned and shining with pleasure, his lips
moving as if he were chattering like a magpie. Lady Gay was just where
you might have expected to find her, mounted on the towering height of
Jabe's shoulder, one tiny hand grasping his weather-beaten straw hat,
while with the other she whisked her willing steed with an alder switch
which had evidently been cut for that purpose by the victim himself.

"That's the way he's sizin' of 'em up," said Samantha, leaning over
Vilda's shoulder with a smile. "I'll bet they've sized him up enough
sight better 'n he has them!"

Jabe left the children outside, and came in with the basket. Putting his
hat in the wood-box and hitching up his trousers impressively, he sat
down on the settle.

"Them ain't no children to be wanderin' about the earth afoot 'n' alone,
'same 's Hitty went to the beach;' nor they ain't any common truck ter
be put inter 'sylums 'n' poor-farms. There's some young ones that's so
everlastin' chuckle-headed 'n' hombly 'n' contrairy that they ain't
hardly wuth savin'; but these ain't that kind. T