"Is yuncle Will goin' yide flour buggy?"
"Yus; the buggy and the colts."
"Is he goin' to take his girl?"
Will blushed a little, and John roared.
"Yes, I'm goin'-"
"Is Aggie your girl?"
"H'yer! h'yer! young man," called John, "you're gettin' personal."
"Well, set up," said Nettie, and with a good deal of clatter they
drew around the cheerful table.
Will had already begun to see the pathos, the pitiful significance of
this great joy over a day's outing, and he took himself a little to
task at his own selfish freedom. He resolved to stay at home some
time and let Nettie go in his place. A few hours in the middle of
the day on Sunday, three or four holidays in summer; the rest for
this cheerful little wife and her patient husband was work-work
that some way accomplished so little and left no trace on their
souls that was beautiful.
While they were eating breakfast, teams began to clatter by, huge
lumber wagons with three seats across, and a boy or two jouncing
up and down with the dinner baskets near the end-gate. The
children rushed to the window each time to announce who it was,
and how many there were in.
But as Johnny said "firteen" each time, and Ned wavered between
"seven" and "sixteen," it was doubtful if they could be relied upon.
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