Besides, there ain't a currant gone into her house this week,
as I happen to know."

"It's a dretful thick year for fol'age," mumbled grandpa Bascom,
appearing in the door with his vacant smile. "I declare some o'
the maples looks like balls in the air."

"That's the twentieth time he's hed that over since mornin',"
said Diadema. "Here, father, take your hat off 'n' set in the
kitchen door 'n' shell me this mess o' peas. Now think smart,
'n' put the pods in the basket 'n' the peas in the pan;
don't you mix 'em."

The old man hung his hat on the back of the chair, took the pan
in his trembling hands, and began aimlessly to open the pods,
while he chuckled at the hens that gathered round the doorstep
when they heard the peas rattling in the pan.

"Reuben needs a wife bad enough, if that's all," remarked the
Widow Buzzell, as one who had given the matter some consideration.

"I should think he did," rejoined old Mrs. Bascom.
"Those children 'bout git their livin' off the road in summer,
from the time the dand'lion greens is ready for diggin'
till the blackb'ries 'n' choke-cherries is gone.
Diademy calls 'em in 'n' gives 'em a cooky every time
they go past, 'n' they eat as if they was famished.
Rube Hobson never was any kind of a pervider, 'n' he's
consid'able snug besides."