walked. We heard them
chuckling as they thumped. They weren't arguing any more about the
"Thirty-Nine Articles." They were arguing about Cheese.

And that was surprising too!

There wasn't any dinner left when we got home except just knives and
forks and spoons. My Mother found us two bowls to go with the spoons.
And some milk to go with the bowls. And some crackers to go with the
milk. Everything went very well.

We told my Mother we were sorry to be late but that we were writing a
book and it was very important.

My Mother said yes,--she knew that writing books was very important and
had always noticed that people who wrote 'em were very apt to be late to
things. Her only regret, she said, was that Carol and I hadn't had a
little more time in which to form habits of promptness before we began
on such a chronic career as Literature.

My Father said "Stuff and Nonsense!" My Father said that if we'd kindly
condescend to tear ourselves away from the Charms of Literature for one
brief afternoon he'd like to have us weed the Tulip Bed.

We said we would.

We forgot all about our book. It isn't that pulling up weeds is any
special fun. It's the putting flowers back that you've pulled up by
mistake that is such a Game in itself. You have to make little splints
for them out of Forsythia twigs. You have to build little collars of
pebble-stone all around them to keep marauding beetles from eating up
their wiltedness. You have to bring them medicine-water from the brook
instead of from the kitchen--so that nobody will scream and say, "Oh,
what have you done now?--Oh, what have you done _now_?"

It was Supper Time before we knew it. There was creamed chicken for
supper. And wild strawberry preserve. And a letter from our sister
Rosalee. Our sister Rosalee is in Cuba visiting her Betrother. She wrote
seven pages about it. She seemed to like her Betrother very much.

My Mother cried a little. My Father said "Oh, Pshaw! Oh, Pshaw! You
can't keep 'em babies forever!" My Mother tried not to look at my
Father's eyes. She looked at his feet instead. When she looked at his
feet instead she saw that there were holes in his slippers. She seemed
very glad. She ran and got a big needle. And a big thread. My Father had
to sit very still.

It seemed a very good time to remember about the Book.

Carol went and got the Book. He put it down on the Dining Room table. It
was a gray book with a red back to it. It said "Lanos Bryant" acr