Cobb seemed to be enjoying herself. She was moving about, her
novel under her arm and her peppermint box in her hand, holding up
her gown daintily in front. She spoke to everybody affably, and told
a number confidentially that her daughter was very delicate about
her eating, but she herself believed in eating what you liked.
Harriet and Harry Liscom were still missing, and so were the younger
daughter, Sarah, and the boy. The boy's name, by the way, was Cobb,
his mother's maiden name. That seemed strange to us, but it possibly
would not have seemed so had it been a prettier name.

Just before lunch-time Cobb and his sister Sarah appeared, and they
were in great trouble. Jonas Green, who owns the farm next the grove,
was with them, and actually had Cobb by the hair, holding all his
gathered-up curls tight in his fist. He held Sarah by one arm, too,
and she was crying. Cobb was crying, too, for that matter, and crying
out loud like a baby.

Jonas Green is a very brusque man, and he did look as angry as I had
ever seen any one, and when I saw what those two were carrying I did
not much wonder. Their hands were full of squash blossoms and potato
blossoms, and Jonas Green's garden is the pride of his life.

Jonas Green marched straight up to Mrs. Jameson under her tree, and
said in a loud voice: "Ma'am, if this boy and girl are yours I think
it is about time you taught them better than to tramp through folks'
fields picking things that don't belong to them, and I expect what
I've lost in squashes and potatoes to be made good to me."

We all waited, breathless, and Mrs. Jameson put on her eyeglasses
and looked up. Then she spoke sweetly.

"My good man," said she, "if, when you come to dig your squashes, you
find less than usual, and when you come to pick your potatoes the
bushes are not in as good condition as they generally are, you may
come to me and I will make it right with you."

Mrs. Jameson spoke with the greatest dignity and sweetness, and we
almost felt as if she were the injured party, in spite of all those
squash and potato blossoms. As for Jonas Green, he stared at her for
the space of a minute, then he gave a loud laugh, let go of the boy
and girl, and strode away. We heard him laughing to himself as he
went; all through his life the mention of potato bushes and digging
squashes was enough to send him into fits of laughter. It was the
joke of his lifetime, for Jonas Green had never been a merry man, and
i