drawing her white shawl around her, she was gone.
Bess quickly divided her forces. Rob and Ted were set to shelling the corn, while Phil and Bert scorched it and their faces at the same time. The impressive duty of stirring the molasses she reserved for herself, assisted at times by Sam.
For a short time all went well. But just as the bright new pan was nearly full of the white kernels, and the molasses was beginning to show its threads, a sudden determined bark was heard at the door, and the scratching of two active little paws. Then followed the sound of Mrs. Carter’s voice in warning tones,—
“Fuzzy mustn’t scratch the doors! No, no! Grandma ’pank.”
An instant’s pause was succeeded by a fresh onslaught on the door by the small delinquent who scorned “grandma’s” threats, having learned from past experiences that patience would carry the day.
“It’s Fuzz,” said Rob. “Can’t I let him in, Cousin Bess?”
“I wouldn’t, Rob; he will be so in the way.”
