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“Mar,” he demanded hastily, “more marshed turnips, please.”,In the house, meanwhile, affairs were proceeding quite as happily as those out of doors. The hostess fluctuated between the parlor and kitchen. She was preparing a repast not only for the workers present, but also for the men-folk who would presently arrive to take them to their respective homes. Excused from quilting, she nevertheless managed to spend considerable time with her guests. Mrs. Mifsud was a lady who aspired to literary attainments. She had read “Beulah,” “Vashti,” “Lucile,” “St. Elmo” and many other books of like calibre. She felt that her talents were practically wasted, living in what she termed a desert, yet she strove, when occasion offered, by elegance of deportment and conversation to enhance her gifts. She often spoke tenderly of the late Mr. Mifsud who, in spite of the fact that his face had been adorned with bristling side-whiskers of an undeniable red, had shown in other ways some signs of intelligence and feeling. He had been carried off by the shingles. According to Mrs. Mifsud’s account, her deeply-lamented spouse had considered the tall attenuated form of his wife “willowy,” her long thin black hair “a crown of glory,” her worn narrow countenance with its sharp nose and coal-black eyes, “seraphic.”,And so the story went on. All the wholesome things of the country that children like had come from one and another. And each had been as happy in giving as Billy could possibly be in receiving.,Norah Bliggins carried in a little basket several carrots of various sizes and complexions, all carefully scrubbed as became respectable members of the vegetable family, and shining as sweet and clean as the face of the child. These must have put to shame their forked brother, for that perturbed carrot rolled heavily to a corner and hid his grimy visage.,The bun in question must have had great dynamic force, the tail of Jethro bearing evidence to the internal power generated.,“St. Elmo’s lost, Ma,” wailed Maria. “We can’t find him and he’s wandered down the creek.”,“Why doesn’t the Gang come, mamma?” he asked, returning the kiss he knew was one ahead for his natal day.,“I’ll wrestle with you first chance,” he challenged; “but you wouldn’t have any show, your dress is so long. Why do you have ’em so?”,Mrs. Wopp repeated the words, slowly rolling them on her tongue as though to extract every ounce possible of scriptural nutriment, “So they took up Joner and carst him forth inter the sea.”,“Billy Boy, it’s fine! It’s splendid! But it’s so big I’m afraid Buzz will be scared.”,Jean was the Goddess of Liberty; Shifty and another larger boy the steeds that pulled her car. But boys and box wagon were so smothered in bunting that only the Goddess was conspicuous, standing, well-balanced, stately, and fair.,“Stop Mar, lemme go, you are wrong,” gasped the little man whose efforts to escape from her clutches had grown more and more feeble. “Drat that man, anyhow, why carnt he say what he means?” answered the mortified lady. The jeers of the youths on the benches added to her discomforture. Nell began to wonder whether her mind and constitution were robust enough to allow her to engage in such festivities as these very often..