"My goodness, that girl's shootin' up! It wouldn't wonder me if you got

to leave these dresses down till time for school. Now if I was you I'd

make them plenty big and let her grow into 'em. Our mom always done

that."

And so the conversation went on until there were twenty lines on the

paper. The game was growing exciting and, under the stress of it, the

counting on the old settee rose above the discreet whisper it was

originally meant to be. "Twenty-one!" cried Amanda. Aunt Rebecca walked

to the door.

"What's you two up to?" she asked. "Oh, you got the hymn-book. My

goodness, what for you writin' on the hymn-book?" She turned to her

sister. "Ain't you goin' to make 'em stop that? A hymn-book ain't to be

wrote on!"

"Twenty-two," cried Phil, secure in the knowledge that his mother would

not object to their use of the book and safely confident that the aunt

could not dream what they were doing.

"What is twenty-two? Look once, Amanda," said the woman, taking the

mention of the number to refer to a hymn.

The girl opened the book. "Beulah Land," she read, a sudden compunction

seizing her.

"Ach, yes, Beulah Land--I sang that when I was a girl still. My

goodness, abody gets old quick." She sighed and returned to her sewing.

"Twenty-three, countin' the last one," prompted Phil. "Mark it down.

Gee, it's a cinch."

But Amanda looked sober. "Phil, mebbe it ain't right to make fun of her

so and count after how often she says the same thing. She looked kinda

teary when she said that about gettin' old quick."

"Ach, go on," said Philip, too young to appreciate the subtle shades of

feelings or looks. "You can't back out of it now. Gee, what's bitin'

you? It ain't four o'clock yet, and it ain't right, neither, to go back

on a promise. Anyhow, if we don't go on and count up to thirty you got

to put the worm in her bonnet--you said you would--girls are no good,

they get cold feet."

Thus spurred, Amanda resumed the game until the coveted thirty lines

were marked on the paper. Then, the goal reached, it was Phil's duty to

find a tobacco worm.

Supper at the Reist farmhouse was an ample meal. By that time the

hardest portion of the day's labor was completed and the relaxation

from physical toil made the meal doubly enjoyable. Millie saw to it

that there was always appetizing food set upon the big square table in

the kitchen. Two open doors and three screened windows looking out upon

green fields and orchards made the kitchen a cool refuge that hot

August day.




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