ll be all right if I'm laid up for
long. But I have my children very easily."

It seemed to the doctor's daughter a desperate outlook and she eyed,
with a combination of pity and awe, the untroubled Bella reclining on
the throne of sacks. The wagon gave a creaking lurch and Bella nearly
lost count of her stitches which made her frown as she was turning the
heel. The lurch woke her husband who pushed back his hat, shouted "Gee
Haw" at the oxen, and then said to his wife:

"You got to cut my hair, Bella. These long tags hanging down round my
ears worry me."

"Yes, dear, as soon as the weather's fine. I'll borrow a bowl from
Mrs. Peeble's mother so that it'll be cut evenly all the way round."

Here there was an interruption, a breathless, baby voice at the wheel,
and Glen leaned down and dragged up his son Bob, wet, wriggling, and
muddy. The little fellow, four years old, had on a homespun shirt and
drawers, both dripping. His hair was a wet mop, hanging in rat tails
to his eyes. Under its thatch his face, pink and smiling, was as fresh
as a dew-washed rose. Tightly gripped in a dirty paw were two wild
flowers, and it was to give these to his mother that he had come.

He staggered toward her, the wagon gave a jolt, and he fell, clasping
her knees and filling the air with the sweetness of his laughter. Then
holding to her arm and shoulder, he drew himself higher and pressed the
flowers close against her nose.

"Is it a bu'full smell?" he inquired, watching her face with eyes of
bright inquiry.

"Beautiful," she said, trying to see the knitting.

"Aren't you glad I brought them?" still anxiously inquiring.

"Very"--she pushed them away. "You're soaked. Take off your things."

And little Bob, still holding his flowers, was stripped to his skin.

"Now lie down," said his mother. "I'm turning the heel."

He obeyed, but turbulently, and with much pretense, making believe to
fall and rolling on the sacks, a naked cherub writhing with laughter.
Finally, his mother had to stop her heel-turning to seize him by one
leg, drag him toward her, roll him up in the end of the blanket and
with a silencing slap say, "There, lie still." This quieted him. He
lay subdued save for a waving hand in which the flowers were still
imbedded and with which he made passes at the two girls, murmuring with
the thick utterance of rising sleep "Bu'full flowers." And in a moment
he slept, curled against his mother, his face angel