I've been jest ready to bile over ever since last Christmas,
an' now I have biled over. Look a-here, Lyddy Ann, we ain't so awful
old. You're seventy-three an' I'm seventy-six, an' we're pert as
sparrers, both of us. Don't we live here by ourselves, an' do most all
the work inside an' outside the house?"
"Yes," nodded Lydia Ann timidly.
"Well, ain't there somethin' you can think of sides slippers you'd like
for Christmas--'specially as you never wear crocheted bed-slippers?"
Lydia Ann stirred uneasily. "Why, of course, Samuel," she began
hesitatingly, "bed-slippers are very nice, an'--"
"So's codfish!" interrupted Samuel in open scorn. "Come," he coaxed,
"jest supposin' we was youngsters again, a-tellin' Santa Claus what we
wanted. What would you ask for?"
Lydia Ann laughed. Her cheeks grew pink, and the lost spirit of her
youth sent a sudden sparkle to her eyes. "You'd laugh, dearie. I ain't
a-goin' ter tell."
"I won't--'pon honor!"
"But it's so silly," faltered Lydia Ann, her cheeks a deeper pink. "Me--
an old woman!"
"Of course," agreed Samuel promptly. "It's bound ter be silly, ye know,
if we want anythin' but slippers an' neckerchiefs," he added with a
chuckle. "Come--out with it, Lyddy Ann."
"It's--it's a tree.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25